


Kintsukuroi

by kawakaeguri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But he's trying, Cullen is an idiot, Daddy!Cullen, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangles, MGIT- sort of, Modern Girl in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Reincarnation, Rough Sex, Smut, The Old Gods are pissed, Unplanned Pregnancy, alternate theories, epic sibling rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-26 09:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 51
Words: 156,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawakaeguri/pseuds/kawakaeguri
Summary: Kintsukuroi- the art of repairing broken pottery with gold, with the understanding that it is more beautiful for having been brokenAislinn has almost no memory of her past before she wakes up on a desolate beach the locals call the Wounded Coast, unaware that she is a mage. Taken immediately to the Gallows and given into the Knight-Captain's care, neither can help themselves as they begin to fall in love. But what happens when a forbidden pregnancy and life forces the two apart?This is the story of one woman, struggling to keep herself and her child alive, torn between her heart and mind, and  plagued by the shadows of the past. Things are not always as they seem.Events follow DA2 up to Inquisition.





	1. The Pacifist

**Author's Note:**

> Another MGiT fic, yaaaay. I swear one day I will write something that is not. Meh. New year, new fic.

The smell of salty sea air mingled with the stench of fish, along with the soothing crashing of waves was a familiar enough memory for her. Blinking the grit out of her eyes, she struggled to push herself up, immediately crying out at the pain. Everything hurt. From her head, to her fingers, down to her toes. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she wiggled each limb in turn, feeling the soft sand under her skin. Beach. _Why was I at a beach? Last thing I remember was… Shit._ She couldn’t remember.

Well, at least nothing was broken. Forcing herself up, it took several minutes before her sight cleared and the nausea subsided and the world stopped spinning. She was on the shore. But it wasn’t a beach she had been to before. Nothing reminded her of what she knew. It was a rather desolate scene, freezing cold and covered in hard packed sand and driftwood and pale gray boulders as far as the eye could see. And bare mountains, far beyond that. Glancing up at the dark sky, her heart stopped. Two moons. _There are two fucking moons in the sky._ She may not have remembered much, but there were definitely not two moons where she came from.

Shouts and screams floated through the wind to where she sat perfectly still, the sound of metal ringing against metal and crackling noises sharply resounding through the silent night. _Not gunfire? Whatever it is, I need to get out if people are fighting_. Stumbling to her feet, she frantically searched the shoreline, spying a path just a few feet away. _There. If I can just get there-_

The sounds of violence had stopped, replaced by the ominous thud of heavy footsteps and a clanging that was almost familiar. 

“You there! Halt!”

She probably shouldn’t stop. She should probably run. But curiosity won. Pausing, she turned back. And stared. Several men in full medieval armor raced toward her, surprisingly fast for the amount all that metal must have weighed. _Strong, then. Unless it's made of tin._ Just behind them, four others sprinted after them in a variety of clothes, from robes to leather armor to… almost nothing? Terrified, she waited patiently for the people to approach, arms wrapped around her body in an attempt to hide her trembling. It was freezing out here. _Please don’t kill me please don’t kill me._

“Are you with the others?” A tall, curly blonde haired man in front stopped first, his voice imperious and ringing.

“I’m- I’m not,” she rasped. “I just woke up on the beach. Could you maybe tell me where I am? I swear I haven’t done anything. I’m just lost.”

“She doesn’t look like she was with them.” One of the men with the others stepped forward, tousled black hair streaked with soot, piercing blue eyes studying her. “Her clothes are odd.”

“Are you a mage?”

“What?” She laughed nervously at the ludicrous question. “Of course I’m not. That’s insane. Who are you people?”

Suddenly, she gasped, dropping to the ground as her legs gave out from under her, clutching her throat as she slowly suffocated.

“Liar,” the blonde man hissed. “I can feel the mana in your veins.”

“What are you doing to me?!” Gasping, she scrabbled in the hard packed sand for purchase, desperately grabbing on as the black haired man rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“Rutherford, she’s not with them! She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She’s an apostate,” he sneered. “She’ll have to come with us.”

“Like hell she will,” the other man snarled. “She’s coming with us.”

“Uh, guys? Can we maybe argue over this later, like after we kill those giant Qunari over there who are stomping toward us waving their pointy bits?” A scantily clad woman with dark curls pointed a dagger behind them, where several large horned creatures charged at full speed towards them with weapons bared.

“Stay here,” the black haired man pushed her behind him. “I’m assuming you can’t fight?” She shook her head violently. “Stay low, then.”

Gulping, she crouched down and huddled as close as possible in some dense scrub bushes, watching in horror as the people in front of her leapt into the fray. Lightning arced across the sand, swords slashed deep into flesh, daggers ripped skin from bones, fire burned them all. She threw up. Several times. The smell of burnt flesh and the coppery tang of blood was overwhelming here in this windless cove. Whimpering, she tucked her head between her knees and prayed to a god that she was sure didn’t exist here.

As the last of the shrieks died down, a gentle hand brushed her hair. Jerking up, she stared into the face of the black haired man, his face now streaked with even more blood. “You okay?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” she whispered. 

“All in a day’s work,” he grinned, offering her a hand to pull her to his feet, the other arm dangling at an odd angle. The woman from earlier nursed a nasty looking gash across her thigh, man with a blonde ponytail in robes wincing as he tried to do something to the cut, but shaking his head solemnly instead. “Fenris, can you pop my shoulder back into place?”

A slim white haired man, with pointed ears of all things and the most intricate tattoos, nodded, silently walking over and bracing his arm against the other man’s shoulder. “Ready, Hawke?”

“Just do it.” Gasping, the only noise that escaped him was a soft grunt as Fenris shoved his joint back into its socket. “Fuck, that hurts when you do it.”

“I’ll try to be gentler next time.”

“How many did you lose, Knight-Captain?”

The blonde man sighed, straightening from where he had been kneeling by a fallen soldier. “Just one. But still… We’ve got to get back to Kirkwall. Thank you again for your help, Hawke. You there,” he gestured to her, “Let’s go.”

“Hey, now.” Frowning, Hawke moved to stand in front of her. “Let us take her. She’s harmless.”

“I don’t even know any magic,” she softly whispered.

“Do you hear that, Hawke? She’s completely untrained!” the Knight-Captain gaped. “She needs to be in a circle.”

“We can train her,” the other man in robes snapped. “And she’ll actually learn things, instead of just to be afraid of her magic like all the other circle mages.”

“Oh goody, more mages,” Fenris drawled.

“Hawke,” the blonde man warned. “Don’t fight me on this.” His sword glinted in the moonlight, blood still fresh in the sand around them.

The others silently hefted their weapons in response, squaring off to face the other armored men.

“Wait, please!” she cried out, stumbling in the sand as she slid between them. “Don’t fight, there’s already been so much…” Glancing around, she gestured helplessly to the corpses that littered the beach, clapping a hand over her mouth as she felt her stomach rise again. “And everyone is injured. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” she murmured softly, raising her eyes to the Knight-Captain. “This circle. Is it a safe place?”

“Yes,” he nodded, scowling at the others’ guffaws and snorts. “It’s where the mages all live. You will be safe there, as long as you follow the rules.”

“Like don’t breathe wrong, or look at the templars wrong,” the robed man scoffed. “Don’t do it, girl.”

“If this is my only option besides everyone fighting, I have to.” Taking a deep breath, she offered them a tremulous smile. “Thank you though, for trying to help a stranger.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Hawke frowned. “The circle here is not like the ones elsewhere.”

“Honestly, I’ve never heard of a circle in my life,” she shrugged. “So no, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. But I’ll go.”

“You’re making the right choice. I’m the Knight-Captain, Cullen Rutherford,” he smiled down at her and she was struck with the realization that he was actually handsome, behind the permanent furrowed brow and dark circles that marred his chiseled features.

“Aislinn. Aislinn Kojima.”

“Let’s go.”

Turning back one last time, she waved at the others, their faces somber and- was that guy glowing blue? Hawke laid a hand on the robed man’s arm, muttering something she could no longer hear.

Being much shorter than the others, she practically had to jog to keep up with them, until Cullen noticed her pants growing louder. Slowing his pace, he flushed under her grateful smile. She was rather pretty for a mage, wavy black hair cascading down her back, smooth tan skin glowing in the faint moonlight, large, dark almond eyes watching him.

“So, Knight-Captain? Can you tell me more about where I am?”

“Where you are?” he frowned. “You’re in the Free Marches, just outside of Kirkwall. Where were you before this?”

“Free Marches? Where’s that?”

“You don’t know the country you’re in, lass?” one of the other templars gaped at her. “Where you from?”

“I… I’m not sure.” It would probably be better to feign total amnesia, she decided, than to explain to them that she was from a place with only one moon and no country named the Free Marches. “I guess I hit my head harder than I thought.”

“Your clothes, they’re of rather… different make,” Cullen glanced down at her denim jeans, plain black t-shirt, and purple zippered hoodie.

“So are yours,” she shrugged. 

“This is standard issue for all templars,” he replied with no little confusion. “Have you never really heard of circles? Templars? Even magic?”

“No,” she sighed. “This is all a mess.”

“Meredith isn’t going to like this,” another templar muttered. A sense of dread settled over her at his dire tone.

“Meredith?” she glanced over at Cullen.

“Our Knight-Commander. She’s the one in charge. Don’t worry,” he soothed, trying to placate the wild, panicked expression spread across her face. “You will be alright.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Knight-Captain,” the man to his left called out.

“Donovan,” he growled. “Don’t scare her anymore than she already is.” His eyes widening, the man slowly nodded.

“Of course, Knight-Captain. Sorry lass. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

“We’ll make camp here,” Cullen called back. “Set out again at first light.” Sitting against the wall of the cave they had stopped in, Aislinn watched as the men unrolled what she guessed were sleeping bags, lit a small fire and pulled out rations. Dropping to his knee in front of her, Cullen held out a few pieces of jerky and several hard crackers. “I’m sorry it’s not anything better or more, we weren’t expecting to bring anyone back with us. Take my bedroll for tonight, it’s not great but it’ll be better than sleeping on the ground. I would hazard a guess you’re not used to these conditions?” She shook her head. Smiling at her, he left the food on her lap, disappearing just beyond the entrance of the cave.

There were so many questions running through her head she needed to ask, but at the moment, she couldn’t figure out what to ask first. It was all just too much. This place. These people. Where the hell was she? There was no such country called Free Marches. Was she just caught up in some sick, massive LARP? No, those people who had died were real. That blood was real. And magic? Templars? And now she was being taken with them? Would they let her leave again? She assumed the answer to that would be no, by the way that the Knight-Captain had been so adamant she come with him. Why was magic so feared here? Too much for her exhausted mind to process. So instead, she just munched on the gamey dried meat and stared into the fire.

“Um, excuse me? Mr. Templar?”

One of the others glanced up at her, a bemused smile on his face. “The proper address for a templar is ser.”

“Right. Ser. Um. Can you tell me what year it is?”

“The year?” he stared. “9:34 Dragon. Maker, you really did lose your memory, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she mumbled despondently. “Who were you fighting? Before you found me?”

“Blood mages,” another templar spat. “Filthy creatures.”

“What’s a blood mage?”

“A mage who uses their own blood to power their spells. It is forbidden by the Chantry, as it is a gateway to demons and creates abominations.”

_Demons. Abominations. What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ She didn’t say another word after that, too afraid of what the answers would be. Climbing into the bedroll offered to her, she tightened the rough blanket around her shivering frame. _Please let this all be a dream._

***

It wasn’t a dream. Groggily, she woke up at the sounds of movement and armor, rubbing her eyes as a templar stomped the fire out, another drinking a shimmery blue liquid from a vial as the others packed their supplies.

“What’s that?” she cocked her head at the pretty color.

“Lyrium,” Cullen came up behind her, motioning for her to move so he could retrieve the bedroll. “All templars take it. Did you sleep well?”

Nodding, she smiled up at him. “Thank you for giving up your bed for me.”

“Of course,” he grunted. “Let’s move out.”

It would be several more hours before they reached the edge of the city, massive walls towering above a cluttered, dirty city, strange bronze statues glowing in the afternoon sun. “Kirkwall,” one of the others pointed. “Not much to look at, but it’s home.”

Misery. Despair. The whole city reeked of it. Staring wide-eyed at the weeping slave statues that loomed over their boat, she shrunk back, only to collide with a metal breastplate. “Relics,” Cullen sighed. “Leftover from when Kirkwall was a Tevinter slave port. That is the Gallows, home to the Circle of Magi.”

“Lovely name,” she muttered softly. All around, men and women in similarly cut robes watched her as the templars led her into the stone tower, whispering in hushed voices, dozens of other templars silently observing their progress through the quiet halls. This was to be her home? _Gods, it’s like that pysch ward of the hospital. All dingy and hopeless._

Leaving the other templars behind, Cullen ushered her into a large office, standing at attention before a heavy wooden desk, covered in neat piles of paper. An imposing blonde woman sat behind the desk, with eyes like knives that appeared to bore straight into Aislinn’s soul.

“Knight-Commander. The blood mages have been put down, with Serrah Hawke’s help.”

“Excellent work, Captain. And who is this?” This must be Meredith, she realized. The woman was terrifying.

“Aislinn Kojima. We found her not far from the cabal, but we had no reason to believe she was with them. She… was completely unaware she was even a mage,” he sighed. “A head injury, perhaps. She has no memory of anything prior to waking up on the Wounded Coast.”

“And you believe her?” Meredith raised an eyebrow at him.

“I do. She came with us willingly,” he stated firmly.

“An adult mage who is entirely untrained,” she tapped a quill against the wood thoughtfully. “It’s too much of a risk. Tranquility will serve her well.” Aislinn frowned. _Tranquility? What’s that?_ “What? No protests?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what Tranquility means, Knight-Commander,” Aislinn said quietly. “So I’m not sure what I should be protesting.”

“Fascinating. You really have no idea,” Meredith leaned back in her chair.

“If I may, Knight-Commander,” Cullen stepped forward. “She’s done nothing but cooperate with us. She should be given a chance, at the very least, to learn to control her abilities. Making her Tranquil with no offense is an abuse of our power!”

“Such an impassioned plea,” she smirked. “Do you have that much faith in this mage?”

“I have faith in the system,” he said firmly.

For several moments, Meredith simply observed the pair, her pale blue eyes flickering back and forth between the two. “Very well,” she replied as if she were now bored with the whole thing. “You take her.”

“Knight-Commander?” Cullen’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“She will stay with you and be wholly your responsibility. Set her schedule as you deem fit. She may learn and eat with the others, but at all other times, she is to be within your sight, do you understand? If she does anything wrong, I expect your justice to be swift, Knight-Captain.”

“She is to… stay with me? In my chambers?” his eyes widened so much that Aislinn was worried they would fall out of his head.

“Did I stutter, Knight-Captain?” Snapping, her eyes narrowed at her second. "I want her kept away from the other apprentices, in case she tries to corrupt them."

“...No, Knight-Commander. Of course, Knight-Commander. Follow me,” saluting, Cullen turned on his heel, Aislinn hesitantly creeping out behind him. 

“Taking her to the dorm, Rutherford?” He ignored all the calls of his fellow templars as he stomped through the corridors into the barracks, questions and gasps bouncing off deaf ears.

“Here,” he growled, yanking open a wooden door that was slightly set apart from the rest. “Inside.” It was a fairly spartan room of pale stone, large enough for two armchairs, a fireplace, and a desk in one corner. Another similar sized room lay just beyond, with a narrow bed, a dresser, and a wash table set against the wall. No other decorations or personal effects could be seen anywhere. “I can get another cot up here for you. Maker, this is a mess,” he groaned, dropping onto the sofa. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what was supposed to happen at all. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

Aislinn moved toward the narrow window at the far side of the room, staring down in the frothy waves crashing over jagged rocks far below. “So… you’re my guardian now? How does that work?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he mumbled. “Normally, you would go live in the dormitories with the other mages, sleep there, eat with them. But now? You will sleep here. I’ll set up your classes, you may be in with children for awhile until you get a handle on your magic. Any meals you’ll take with the others, but studying and your free time will be spent under my supervision. Andraste preserve me, but I don’t have time for this.”

Wincing at his harsh tone, Aislinn poked the corner of the wall with her toe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a burden.”

“This isn’t your fault at all. Maker’s breath. Perhaps I should have let you go with Hawke,” he shook his head despondently.

“You still could,” she suggested hopefully.

“No, I cannot, I’m afraid. You’re here for good.” Standing up, he sighed and straightened out his armor. “I’ll go find clothes for you and other supplies. And a bed. Rest a bit, and I’ll take you on a tour of the place later, perhaps introduce you to a few of your teachers.” 

And with that, he was gone, and she was finally alone. Gazing back out across the ocean, Aislinn shivered. What the hell had she gotten herself into?


	2. Rumours

It was several hours later when he finally stormed back in, a haggard expression lining his handsome face. “No spare cots,” he snorted. “I have a feeling I’m being played.” Tossing a bundle at her, he took the other chair. “Clothes. Robes, hose, er- smalls, shoes. I guessed on the sizes, so if they don’t fit, we can stop by the quartermaster later. Well? Get dressed, I don’t have all day.” 

Snatching up the clothes, Aislinn all but sprinted into the bedroom, stripping faster than she ever undressed before. Frowning at what she guessed were the smalls, she left her own underwear on and pulled the robe on over it, the fabric pleasantly thick and soft. It was actually a decent fit, only slightly tight around the bust, although the shoes were far too big. Trying to reach the laces in the back to no avail, she crept back out of the room. “Um, Knight-Captain? I can’t tie myself up.”

Cullen choked on the water he had been drinking. “Tie yourself- Oh, the laces. Here.” Praying she didn’t notice his bright red face, he took his time tightening her laces, waiting for the heat in his face to abate. “There.” A sweet scent of cinnamon and apples drifted up from her hair as she spun around to face him. Covered as she had been in that strange shirt, he hadn’t really noticed her figure before but it was unmistakable in the clinging robes, her curves amplified by the long lines of her new clothes.

“Did I put it on wrong? She asked anxiously, noticing his stare. “It fits fairly well, although the slippers are too loose.”

“It’s fine,” he croaked. “Um. We’ll get you new shoes.” Pushing open his door, Cullen scowled at the ring of templars that surrounded his room. “Back to your posts! All of you!” Paling in shock at being caught, the men and women quickly scurried away, the cacophony of their armor fading as they jogged back to work. “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to get anything done?”

“How ya supposed to get any personal time now, Captain?”

“That’s what he has the lass now for!”

Whirling on the cackling men, Cullen bristled. “She is not to be treated in such a manner, do you hear? She is my charge, as are the other mages. Personal associations with our charges is forbidden, or have you forgotten, Ser Torrance?”

“No, ser!”

“I apologize for their behavior,” he mutter to Aislinn once they moved out of earshot. “I fear that will not be the last of it you hear, however.”

“I’m a big girl,” she shrugged. “Few crass words won’t kill me.”

“How old are you, anyways?”

“Twenty-two. You?”

“Twenty-three. You look younger. Anyways. Barclay! She needs shoes that fit her.”

A young man with a tattoo of a sunburst on his forehead appeared at the summons out of a large storage room. “Of course, Knight-Captain. May I see you feet, miss?” His voice was oddly detached and flat, the sound sending shivers up her spine. Holding out her foot, she waited for him to measure it.

“What’s wrong with him?” she whispered to Cullen.

“Tranquil. He was a mage, until he lost control of his spell one day. Tranquility severs the tie between the mage and the Fade, rendering them harmless but also… changed. It is a kindness,” he insisted at her horrified expression.

“That’s what she wanted to do to me? I would be like that?!”

“You won’t,” he shook his head. “I have a feeling your will is stronger than average.”

“Here you are, miss. One pair of slippers.” Gingerly taking them from the Tranquil, she gave him back her old shoes, wiggling her toes in the new pair.

“Thank you, Barclay.”

“You are welcome.”

 _So fucking creepy_. The rest of the day passed in a blur of hallways, side glances from other mages, and an endless list of names she would never remember. One of the older mages handed her a thick piece of paper with her new class schedule inked on it, coldly informing her to not be late to his class, ever. Tucking the parchment inside her pocket, she had merely smiled at the crochety old man, and followed Cullen back out.

“This is the dining hall. I will leave you here while I take care of some things and collect you in 30 minutes, if that’s enough time?” She nodded. “Trays are over there. I will see you then.”

 _I can do this_. Holding her head high, she stalked over to where the stack of trays, trying to tune out the gossip around her.

“Whore.”

“He’s her pet.”

“I heard Meredith gave her to him for good behavior.”

“Someone said the templars pass her around.”

“She’s only been here a day, that’s impossible.”

“Everyone knows the templars can’t keep it between their legs. It’ll be true soon enough.”

“Reginald said she doesn’t know anything about magic! At her age!”

“As long as she keeps the templars’ attention away from me, I don’t give a damn who she fucks.”

“Slut.”

It took all of her willpower to hold her tears back, slipping into a chair at an empty table in the corner. She barely tasted her food, some sort of baked fish and vegetables, munching silently on a warm seeded roll. _He told you to expect this. They’re just words. They don’t know you. At least it’s not the truth. I never wanted this!_ Her silent screams fell on oblivious ears. _This isn’t my fault!_

“Hi.”

Glancing up, Aislinn furiously wiped away her traitorous tears as a petite woman with several vine-like tattoos etched onto her face sat in front of her, large pointed ears twitching slightly. “I’m Veriane. You can call me Vera.”

“Aislinn.”

“Ignore all those shems,” she smiled. “They’re full of pig shit anyways.”

“Shems?”

“Humans,” Vera amended. “It’s what the elves call you. You don’t mind, do you? That I’m an elf?”

“No,” Aislinn answered honestly. “Why should I mind?”

“I like you,” she giggled. 

By the time Cullen came back to retrieve her, Aislinn now had a better understanding of what magic was, the Fade, and the very real threat that demons posed. Still reeling from the knowledge that she could actually be possessed, she waved distractedly to Vera as she followed the templar out. _Possessed. Abomination. Fuck this place._

“How did it go?”

Briefly, she considered telling him about the rumors that spun wildly around her arrival, but he probably already knew. So instead, she just smiled. “I made a new friend, I think.”

“I saw. Vera is a talented mage, if slightly mischievous. You could do worse, as far as friends go.” Back in the room, he handed her a stack of leather bound books. “I have to take care of some work, but I brought you these. A brief history of Thedas, magic fundamentals, the Chant of Light, and a few others you might enjoy. I wasn’t sure what sort of reading material you preferred, so I just grabbed an assortment,” he rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

“Thank you,” peering at the embossed spines, she pulled out the first book on magic she saw and curled into one of the armchairs. This wasn’t so bad, she thought. The fire was warm and comforting, and he was respectful toward her, nothing less than a perfect gentleman. If only the others weren’t so callous towards her. Then again, it was only the first day, right? Maybe some of them would come around. Putting down the book on magic, the talk of demons and the Fade too much for her to bear at the moment, she examined the largest book he had brought her, entitled ‘The Chant of Light’. Opening it up to a random page, she began to read. “These truths the Maker has revealed to me: As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods. Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” 

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.” She glanced up at Cullen, who was now eyeing her with a curious expression. _Well, this explains a lot._

“This Maker. He is your god?” He nodded. “And everyone here follows the same religion?”

“Andraste is his Bride, once mortal, but no longer. Most people are Andrastian, yes. All of Thedas is technically under the Chantry, save the Imperium, well, sort of, the Qun, the dwarves who remain underground, the Dalish, and a few pockets of barbarians. There is a Chantry here, if you wish to learn more. The Sisters would be delighted to teach you.”

“I…” Truthfully, the idea of religion left a bad taste in her mouth but this could be useful. It was obvious Cullen believed. And if the rest of the world did as well… “I would like that.”

Reading until the fire died down and her eyes began to hurt, Aislinn yawned, slumping over the book in her lap. 

“It’s late, I did not realize how much so," he glanced up at her with an oddly soft expression. "There are a few more clothes for you in the smaller trunk in the bedroom. Nightclothes, spare robes and things. Ah, you take the bed. I’ll keep trying to get a cot,” he added.

Blinking up at him, she gazed around the room. “Where will you sleep?”

“I have my bedroll, don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t be silly. This is your room and-”

“Our room,” he corrected her darkly.

“Still. You’re the one working, You take the bed.”

“Mage,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Take the damn bed.” Shoving her into his room, he pulled the door shut, ignoring her muffled exclamations of protest. Eventually, she quieted down to the point where he finally let go of the handle. Damn. His armor stand was in his room. Resigning himself to one night of broken habit, he gently stacked the heavy metal pieces in a corner of his room and tamped down the fire, settling himself down into his thin bedroll. He really needed to find a second bed.

The moons were high in the sky when she heard it first, the cries of agony and fear. Softly pulling the door open, she peeked out into the dark room. There, thrashing about on the floor, lay Cullen, his shirt soaked with sweat, blonde curls pressed to his forehead. _Nightmare_ , she thought. _Probably shouldn’t wake him, but he looks so miserable._ Creeping across the room, she knelt at his side. Leaning in close, she whispered, “Knight-Captain?” His eyelids fluttered and he moaned. “Cullen, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

“Demon,” he hissed, his hands raising to shield his facei _Do all templars see demons everywhere, or is it just him?_

“It’s Aislinn, Knight-Captain. Wake up!” At her faint touch on his arm, Cullen shot upright and twisted, his hands clamping around her throat as he flipped her with ease, pinning her to the ground below. At the tiny whimper she gave at the pain blossoming in the back of her skull, his eyes cleared.

“Maker’s breath, Aislinn! I’m so sorry!” He scrambled back from her.

“My fault,” she wheezed. “Should’ve known better than to touch you. Everything okay?”

“Ah, yes,” he mumbled, shamefully averting his gaze. “A nightmare, nothing more.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he winced at the tension in his muscles.

He looked so different out of his armor, she mused. Smaller, more real. He was broad, yet almost gaunt despite the firm muscle she glimpsed under his loose tunic. Dark circles under his honeyed eyes were even more prominent in the shadowed room. Gingerly, she sat up, pressing on the bruise she knew was spreading under her hair. She would live, she decided, standing up and holding out a hand. “Come on.”

He blinked up at her. “What?”

“Get in the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I-”

“I’m really not in the mood to argue, Knight-Captain. It’s late, I’m tired, and sleeping on that damn floor will give anyone nightmares. Plus, you’re my new roommate for better or worse and I’d rather have you in a good mood than not. Now get in the bed,” she snapped. This bossy side of her was new. Raising an eyebrow at her impertinent tone, Cullen found he was too exhausted to mount a sufficient defense and let her lead him to the bed. “Lay on your stomach, please.”

“What are you doing?”

“Do you have to question everything? I thought you were a soldier. God, you must be a horrible one if this is what you do all day,” placing her hands on her slim hip, she pointed down. Grumbling under his breath, he finally acquiesced, sighing in content as he snuggled into the soft, worn sheets, just the barest hint of her scent lining the fabric. 

And then tensed up. The bed dipped behind him, her slight weight perching on his lower back. “W-what are you doing?”

“Your back and neck, I saw you flinching at the pain. I can help. Do you mind?”

“You don’t have to do this,” he replied into the bed. Her fingers were warm on his cool skin, gently probing to feel where the worst of the knots were. “I know you’re just as tired as- oohhhhhh Maker,” groaning, he felt her hands dig into his tense muscles, the pressure increasing until it was almost too much to bear, with the pain and pleasure easing up at the last possible moment.

Little by little, he felt himself melt under her tender ministrations, a small moan escaping now and then as she hit the particularly rough spots. _Why does he have to sound so sexy when he does that? He needs to stop._ She didn’t want him to stop. Fully aware that if he decided to take her here and now, that she would not stop him, she slowly pulled back, smoothing away the last of the pain. “Better?”

A light snore was her only answer. Chuckling to herself, she slid off of his back and pulled the blankets back over him, pausing to brush a stray curl from his face. Such a strange man to find here. Although it could have been worse. Much, much worse. Quietly, she stole back into the sitting room and pulled one arm chair over to the other one and stretched out across them. Better, not as good as the bed, but better than the floor at least. Yes, things could be much worse.

***

The pale grey light of the pre-dawn woke him as it always did, but for some reason today, he felt disoriented. Sitting up in bed, he glanced around the room. Everything was as it should be- wait. His armor wasn’t on the stand. And there was a new trunk next to his dresser. Aislinn.

Standing up, he stretched his tired muscles as he always did, but the familiar tightness was no longer there. Last night’s memory came back to him in a sudden rush. He had a nightmare, and attacked her. And she had put him to bed, and massaged his aching back away, when she had a head injury herself. Why? Why would she have cared for him so? Puzzled, he quickly washed his face then stepped out into his sitting room. There she was, curled up like a cat across the two chairs, mouth slightly agape, her hair falling in tangled waves across her face. 

An unexpected pang gripped his heart. She was beautiful. Adorable was probably a better word actually, with that smattering of freckles sprinkled across her high cheekbones. And so peaceful. And a mage, he reminded himself. Capable of turning into an abomination at anytime. _Especially her, since she is untrained. That’s why Meredith put you in charge of her._ His charge. His responsibility. Satisfied with this train of thought, he made to walk towards his armor, so he could begin his day. And paused. _She was kind to me. I would be remiss to not return the favor_. Bending over, he gently lifted her up, cradling her slumbering form against his chest. She was so warm and soft he realized, and immediately the woman turned towards his chest only to snuggle in closer. Cullen stopped breathing. This felt right, her in his arms, breathing against his skin. He felt… whole, somehow. This is crazy, he chided himself. Forcing his legs to move, he briskly set her down in his bed and pulled the sheets up over her.

“I’ll be back for you an hour before the first bell,” he murmured into her ear. A dark eye lazily opened at his words, her lips curling up into a small smile.

“Mmkay. See you, Cullen.”

Knight-Captain, he wanted to correct her. But after several seconds of opening his mouth and hearing no words come out, he gave up and quickly left.

_This is going to end in disaster._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr as kawakaeguri if you want to say hi!
> 
> Aislinn is half Scottish, half Japanese for visual purposes. I mostly post DA stuff, occasionally NSFW pics, and whatever other things make me giggle.


	3. Saved and Claimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted rape

Her new routine was easy enough. Cullen usually brought her breakfast between his morning drills and her first class of the day. Then it was lectures and studying and practicing all morning, lunch with the other mages, and more lectures and studying and setting her robes on fire in the afternoon before supper. After the evening meal, Cullen would collect her and she would either study in the library if he had nothing to do while he watched her, or study in his room if he did have work. In public, he was the same fierce, stoic templar as the rest, barely acknowledging her except to bark orders at her, but in private he was… softer. Kinder. More human.

He had started to teach her to play chess, claiming it would help sharpen her mind, but she figured out he just wanted a new partner to beat as he already had decimated the rest of his colleagues, judging by the way the other templars ran when he asked for a game. The rumors about her being the Knight-Captain’s whore never really let up either, actually increasing in frequency as the months went by. Vera was her only saving grace, keeping her from falling into a serious depression. It was with her additional help that Aislinn’s grasp on magic began to hold, and eventually she outstripped the other beginners and was finally put into the advanced classes.

“Enchanter Pieter said I should be ready for my Harrowing within the next few months,” she told Cullen one night over the chess board. Brow creasing, he slid a pawn across the wood.

“That’s fast. You've only been training for what, seven months? Do you feel ready?”

“I suppose?”

Cullen frowned, dark amber eyes studying her. “You need to be absolutely sure before you go through with it, Aislinn. This is not something you should take lightly. There are no second chances, and if you fail-” He swallowed.

“I know,” she murmured, picking up her knight. “I’m not going to do it tomorrow, Cullen. Can’t be rid of me that easily,” smirking, she moved another piece. “Check.”

Grunting, he studied the board. “Worth a shot,” he quipped. “By the way, I have to go into the city tomorrow, so Ser Grant will be overseeing your duties.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to like him,” he replied mildly. “Why, going to miss me?”

“If I do, I can just stare at my own ass and then it’ll be just like you’re right here with me,” she said brightly, ducking the pawn he threw at her. “But seriously. There are rumors about him. And mages. Especially female, elven mages.”

“I’ve looked into them and found no evidence,” sighing wearily, he moved another piece. “All just heresay.”

“Everyone’s too scared to speak up.”

“Except you,” he snorted.

“Only to you though. And only in here.” Glancing up at her soft voice, an unexpected smile crept onto his face. 

“Ah. Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Checkmate.”

“Ugh,” she threw herself dramatically backwards in her chair. “One of these days, Knight-Captain, I swear.” Grinning widely, he chuckled at her low mutters, leaving him to pick up the pieces as she stalked into the bedroom. Cullen had finally managed to intimidate someone into moving a cot into the room, along with a wooden divider to give them both desperately needed privacy. All in all, the arrangement had not been terrible. Aislinn was neat and tidy, also a creature of habit, and did not invade his space. She was also getting to be quite skilled at healing, an additional boon that he did not forsee as she was always willing to help him with his pains and aches, soothing his dreams at night. While most magic made him wary, hers was strangely calming, almost relaxing in quality, glowing a soft gold like the sun, or the wheat fields of his childhood.

Putting the chess set away, Cullen waited until her stomping finally ceased before going into the bedroom and removing his armor. “Still mad?”

“Planning my revenge,” she called from behind the barricade.

She never gave up. “Good,” he smiled. “Good night, Aislinn.”

“Night, assface.”

***

Ser Grant made her uneasy. He was a relatively handsome man, with long, flowing brown hair that was usually braided, and pretty hazel eyes. But his features held no warmth, only a superior haughtiness that was all but impossible to conceal. And behind that, lust. She felt his stare on her body as she moved around the library, putting her books back onto the shelf. “I’m ready to go back, ser.” Thank goodness Cullen would be back soon, and this other templar would be gone.

Following him down into the templar barracks, she frowned in confusion as he took the first hall on the left, instead of the second. “Ser? Where are we going?”

“Shut up, mage,” came the blunt reply. Pressing her lips together, she clenched her fists, feeling adrenaline spike through her body. What the hell is he going to pull? Grabbing her arm, he suddenly yanked her into a closet, slamming the door shut. “Now, let’s see what you’ve been giving the Knight-Captain that has him in such a good mood these days, huh? Must be pretty good in the sheets to relax that man.”

“Let me go,” she cried, struggling against his bruising grip, his fingers crushing her breasts under his harsh caress.

“It isn’t fair, that he has you all to himself,” Grant growled, hiking up her skirts. “When we’re just left with this, stealing whatever kind of affection we can in dark corners and brothels. Come now, pretty. Be a good girl and this will hurt less.”

“Fucking bastard,” she spat, twisting her legs to lash out at him. She should have expected the Silence, really. But as it was, she did not, and caught unawares, she instantly went limp and faint, moaning at the pain in her head.

“That’s it, fuck you’re tight, lass,” squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the sensations of his fingers, her body betraying her as he teased her arousal out of her. “See? You like it, don’t play shy.”

“Please stop,” she whimpered.

“Not a chance,” he grinned, shoving his pants down. “Now, then-”

The door flung open, Aislinn crashing to the ground as another templar grabbed Grant by his neck and threw him out. “What is this?!” the newcomer roared.

“Bitch asked for it,” Grant snapped. “Begged me, even.”

The other man turned around. Ser Thrask. She could have wept with relief. So she did. “Is that true, Aislinn?”

Tears now flowing freely down her face, she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “He-”

“Shh, it’s okay. You two, take Grant to the holding cells. Come on, girl, let’s get you back to the Knight-Captain’s room.” Clutching his arm as if it were her life raft, they slowly made their way down the hall, the shameful whispers following her once again. Gently, he pushed her into Cullen’s room, taking a seat while she listlessly paced around the perimeter, coming to a stop by the window.

“I’m not a whore. The Knight-Captain’s never even touched me like that,” she murmured.

“I know. Cullen is a good, honorable man. Probably why Meredith gave you to him, although she had to have known this would happen. I don’t know what that woman is thinking anymore,” he shook his head, dark red hair falling into his eyes. “The Circle, it’s changing. Go ahead and get some rest. Did you want to bathe first?” She nodded. “Alright. I’ll escort you.” Grabbing her toiletries, she followed him down to the bathing hall, Thrask standing guard outside while she went in, the tiled room blissfully empty for once. Setting the water to as hot as she could manage it, Aislinn scrubbed. And scrubbed. Until her skin was raw and bleeding. The door opened.

“I can still feel it,” she gasped. “His hands, I can feel them still.” Large hands gently removed the coarse sponge from her hands, wrapping her shivering body up in several thin towels. Vaguely aware that she knew this man, Aislinn allowed her exhaustion to finally overwhelm her, and she passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Cullen was beyond livid. He had come back to his room, tired from chasing runaways through Darktown, and expected to come back to her sitting there reading as she always did. There was a nasty slice across his arm that he had been hoping she would heal. But instead, he was greeted by a cold, dark room, and no Aislinn. Then another templar had led him to Thrask, who told him the story and informed him that Aislinn had been in the baths for over an hour. Barreling through the door, heedless of whatever the others would say, he found her, trying to flay herself alive. He would _kill_ Grant.

“Where is he?” Oddly calm, he laid her in her cot, piling several more blankets on top of her before turning to Thrask.

“Holding cell.”

“Watch her. I’ll be back soon.” No one dared get in his way as he stormed down the stairs, murderous intent written on his face. “Grant,” he snarled through the iron bars. “There were rumors. I thought them fiction. Obviously not.”

“You can’t fault me for wanting a little taste of what you had, Knight-Captain,” he jeered. “Pretty little thing, too. Tight cu-” Wrenching the gate open, Cullen sprinted inside and lifted up the smaller man, slamming him into the stone walls.

“Curb your tongue,” he hissed. “I have not touched her, because she is one of my charges. A mage. She is not my plaything, nor yours or anyone else’s.”

“Bullshit, that you haven’t touched her,” Grant rasped. “Unless, you’re gay. That it, Captain? Prefer men?”

Releasing him, Cullen shrugged. “Believe what you will.” Turning around, he locked the cell behind him. “Put him on quarter rations until the Knight-Commander can sentence him.”

“You can’t do that! My lyrium, I need-”

“You should have thought about that before, Grant. There are always consequences for your actions,” Cullen replied. The other man’s shouts and curses followed him all the way upstairs.

Nodding to Thrask, the other templar left as Cullen slipped inside. Aislinn sat on her cot naked still, hair soaking wet, her skin scraped until it was a bright red and oozing. Grabbing a jar of ointment from his shelf, he cautiously approached her, keeping his gaze trained on her face. 

“Aislinn. Is it okay if I rub this in? Or do you want to?” She didn’t budge, her gaze still vacant and fixed on nothing. Hesitantly, he scooped some onto his fingers and began spreading over the worst of her injuries, moving faster as she didn’t react. “He’s been punished. I will make sure he never harms another mage again, I swear it. Thrask told me everything, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should have listened, and then you-” his voice choked. Maker, this was all his fault. She had tried to warn him, and he had brushed off her concerns. The concerns of all the other mages the fiend had raped. What kind of a templar was he? What kind of a man?

Finishing up, he found one of her clean shifts and tugged it over her head. Her limbs were stiff, and it almost felt like he was dressing a doll. “Aislinn, say something, please,” he begged. Still nothing. Sighing, he toweled off her hair some more, and gently laid her back. “Sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” Unsure of what else he could do at this point, Cullen left her alone and got ready for bed. There had been cases of other mages being raped before, and their magic suddenly becoming erratic and uncontrollable. What if- No. He had to believe that she was stronger than that. If he lost her…

If he lost her what? She was a mage. He was a templar. She was a potential vessel for a demon. How could he forget that? But she was also Aislinn. Who played chess with him, even though she lost every time. Who read from the Chant to him on nights when he couldn’t sleep. Who willingly healed all his pains and aches, even down to the tiniest papercut. She was so much more to him now than just a mage and a roommate. And that was dangerous. Now that she was more proficient in her skills, he should talk to Meredith. Perhaps she would agree to let her move into the dormitories now.

The sound of faint, muffled sobs drew him back to the present. She was crying. Throwing back his covers, Cullen practically leapt across the room. “Aislinn?” Her back was towards him, but her entire body was shaking from the force of her weeping. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Tenderly, he lifted her up, feeling an odd sense of gratification as her body immediately relaxed into his. Carrying her over to his bed, he sat with his back against the wall, rubbing her back slowly. “He won’t hurt you again, I promise.”

“Maybe not him,” she gasped between sobs. “But what about the others? I hear them, Cullen. What they think of me. What they all think of me. If he thought it, then there are others who probably do too and-”

“No,” his denial came out a bit harsher than he intended. “I swear to you, no one else will touch you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she shook her head, his shirt already soaked with her tears. “I just want to go home. I just want to go home.” Her cries began anew at that, the heart wrenching whimpers burying into his gut like a jagged knife and twisting violently. Laying down, he pillowed her head against one arm and wrapped the other around her.

“I do promise, Aislinn. I swear to you. I will always protect you, no matter what,” he whispered into her hair. “I failed you today. I will not do so again.” Finally stilling, she raised glassy eyes to him. Maker, even as distraught as she was now, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His will completely removed from his grasp, Cullen leaned over and kissed her. Aislinn stiffened under the soft caress. His eyes flew open. “Shit, Aislinn! I’m so sorry. I’m-”

The rest of his apology was muffled as she grabbed his neck and hauled him back down to her lips. It was like releasing a tidal wave, the force of their passion finally unconstrained and free to consume them both. Moaning at her sweet gasps, Cullen pulled her in closer, feeling her legs wrap around his, her hands reaching for his laces.

“Are you sure you-”

“Please, Cullen,” she whispered. “Make me forget. I need you, please.” Pulling back for only a second, seeing only yearning and desire in her eyes, he slid her shift off of her, sucking in a breath at the bruises on her chest. Tenderly, he kissed each one, laving his tongue over the marks. He was going to murder that sorry excuse for a templar. Sliding her smalls and his own off, Cullen stared in awe at her exposed body, reverently running his hands over the smooth flesh.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, trailing wet kisses down her stomach, up her thighs, and cross her folds. Bucking underneath his hands, she panted as he eased her apart with one finger, holding her open as he bent over to taste her. “And absolutely delicious.” She wailed at the slow torture, starting to come undone as he slowly licked and sucked every inch of her skin, one finger inside of her soon joined by a second, pressing her open. Suddenly, he decided he wanted to see her come like this, around his mouth and hands. Searching, testing, he found the place and rhythm that made her spine arch and her eyes roll back, focusing all his rusty skills until finally, blissfully, she exploded above him, the gush of her sweet juices covering his tongue. And he lapped it all up eagerly. Maker, he wanted more.

Climbing up her trembling body, one hand gripping his stiff member, he rubbed the tip into her fluids. “Ready, sweetling?” She nodded, unable to trust her voice. Cullen groaned at the feel of her, so tight and hot and damn wet, her nails digging into his biceps, her full lips parted and gasping, her pebbled nipples rubbing against his hairy chest. “You are-” Dread overcame him as he felt a slight resistance before breaking through to slide all the way in, her body stretching around him like she was made for him, “ _Aislinn_ , you're-”

“It's okay,” she gasped and bit her lip, screwing up her nose as the pain slowly subsided.

"You should have told me," he murmured. "I would have... I'm not sure, but done something different. Gone slower, or-"

"No," she smiled up at him, wiggling a bit until he felt her relax around him. “This is perfect. Fuck me, Cullen.”

His dark amber eyes went almost completely black at her crude words, hips snapping back before thrusting back deep inside of her. Throwing her arm into her mouth, she bit down hard to muffle her screams. Freezing for a moment, he sagged in relief as she begged for more. “That’s it, love,” he moaned, grinding his pelvis against her sensitive pearl as he continued to ease in and out of her achingly tight sheath. “Come for me, I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Leaning over, he captured one sweet nipple in his teeth, gently biting and rolling the peak, delighting in her eager shrieks. “Cullen, I-” She never finished her sentence. Pleasure like she had never known slammed into her, throwing her consciousness high above her body as her orgasm took over her senses. Electricity raced over her skin, leaping over to his flesh, the sharp jolts seizing up his muscles. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, Cullen roared as he felt his seed rise, barely withdrawing in time to emptying himself across her twitching belly.

“Are you okay?” He ask her as soon as he was able to coherently put together a full sentence, easing himself back up onto his elbows to gaze down at her, sweaty and flushed and pleased as hell underneath him.

“Better than okay,” she smiled up at him, tracing the sharp angle of his jawline. “If I had known that was what it was going to be like, I would have insisted you make those rumors a reality months ago.”

His laugh was more light and carefree than she had ever heard it before. “Yes, well. I am a bit out of practice. It’s, um, been a while. A long while,” he added sheepishly.

“I couldn’t tell.” Her eyes widened. “Shit, if that was you out of practice, what are you like with practice? Ohhhh,” her walls twitched in anticipation at the very thought.

“Would you like to find out?” he purred.

“Yes, please.” Grinning down at her, he nuzzled her nose, pressing tiny kisses around the bridge.

“We’ll have to keep this quiet, you know. Romantic liaisons between templars and mages is forbidden.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But at least we have this.”

“That we do. I meant what I said earlier, by the way.” Cocking her head to one side, _like a bird_ , he thought, she pulled him down for yet another kiss.

“About what?”

“That I swear to always keep you safe.”

A slow, wondrous smile spread across her face. “I believe you. I trust you, Cullen.” _I love you_. But she left that unspoken. For now.


	4. The Limits of Magic

His first waking thought was that he was warm for once, pleasantly so even in his drafty room. Then, his blankets moved. A sweeping wave of contentment flowed through him as he smiled, peeling back the sheets. Aislinn lay snuggled against his bare chest, drooling ever so slightly, one of her arms draped across his stomach. He could get used to this. 

Carefully, he extracted himself from the tangle of her limbs, smoothing away the frown that creased her brow at the loss of her personal heater. “Sleep some more, love. I’ll be back soon.”

“Love,” she mumbled sleepily. “I like it.”

It was hard to keep his features neutral as he went about his daily business, a wide grin threatening to break out almost every second of the day, his thoughts invariably returning to her no matter what he did. A day ago, a night like last night had only been a dream, perhaps a fantasy set in some alternate world. But she had clung to him just as tightly as he to her, needed him like he needed her, like he needed to breathe. _This will not end well_ , a small niggling voice in the back on his mind warned. _Shut up_ , he scowled at his subconscious. _Let me have this for now._

Grabbing a tray from the cafeteria, he piled it full of the things she liked, an assortment of fresh fruit and a small bowl of oatmeal with extra honey. Unable to conceal the bounce in his step, he finally allowed his smile to see light as he returned to his room, Aislinn’s naked back just visible within the bedroom.

All that tanned, creamy expanse of skin called to him like a siren of legend, begging to be touched. So he did. Throwing his gloves off to the side, he crept up behind her, running his hands along her soft curves. The sight of goosebumps rising along her skin gratified him and warmed his blood. “Hello,” he purred in her ear.

“Hi,” she giggled, spinning around to face him. “Bring me anything good?”

“Your favorites. Maker’s breath, but I wish we had more time,” he groaned at the sight of her bare breasts, taking a soft nipple between his fingers and lightly pinching it. A low moan was his reward, the sound lancing straight through his body down to his already hardening length. “Minx.”

“Tonight,” she murmured. “Then I’m all yours.”

“Mine,” he hummed. “I like the sound of that. Now put some clothes on before I decide to damn us both and take you anyways.” Laughing as she scampered away, Cullen turned back towards his desk, reading a few reports as she dressed and ate. “Remember, we need to act the same. If anyone had actual evidence as to what we were doing…” He shuddered at the thought.

“What would happen? Just out of curiosity?”

“I’d be expelled from the Order, you’d be made Tranquil. At best. Or death. Death is more likely,” he mumbled, expression dark. “Maybe- maybe this isn’t worth it. If anything happened to you…”

If anything happened to her. Not if he got kicked out, not if he died. Crossing the room, she rose to her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s worth it, Cullen. Love always is.” His eyes went wide. “First bell rings soon.”

“Right,” he nodded. _Love. She loves me?_ “We can do this. Just like normal.”

Except it wasn’t like normal. It was ridiculously hard to keep her same straight face all day, she soon found out, having to fake coughing fits or hide behind books several times as people gave her strange looks.

“Something’s different about you,” Vera dropped into the desk next to hers, a text on the primal school of magic opened before her. “Can’t quite figure it out.”

“Yesterday was rather eventful,” Aislinn muttered. “Did you hear?”

“Shit, that was you?” she gasped. “He didn’t- did he?”

Shaking her head, the older woman sighed. “No. Ser Thrask stopped him just before he, well. You know.”

“Think the Knight-Commander will expel him? Others have been kicked out for much less,” she mused.

“Mistress Kojima? The First Enchanter wishes to speak to you.” Glancing up, Aislinn nodded to the Tranquil who had appeared beside her. _Shit. Did he find out already? Was I too loud last night? Did someone hear? No, don’t expect the worst. He may just want to talk about yesterday. Yes, that has to be it. Please let that be it._

First Enchanter’s Orsino office was much smaller compared to the Knight-Commander, and infinitely messier. Tomes and parchment and quills lay scattered around almost every surface, the smell of embrium strong in the air from the potions bubbling in a side alcove.

“Ah, Aislinn, sit, please,” the slim elven man waved at an empty chair in front of his desk. “How are you feeling today?”

“As well as can be expected, First Enchanter,” she replied demurely, her head lowered.

“I’m sure,” he sighed wearily. “I’ve spoken with the Knight-Commander, and it seems like Ser Grant will be put on probation for the next six months.” At her horrified reaction, he raised a hand to forestall her outrage. “I know. I pushed for expulsion, as did the Knight-Captain, but… It is out of our hands. I fear that these attacks on your person might increase, given the nature of the Knight-Captain’s, shall we say, level of responsibility over you. Tell me, child, has he done anything similar?”

“No, First Enchanter,” she emphatically shook her head. “The Knight-Captain has always treated me with the utmost respect, both in public and private.”

“That is comforting to hear, at least.” Stopping to lean against the table, he studied her with his large, dark eyes. “Meredith has agreed to release you from his care once you pass your Harrowing. It should be time soon, judging by your accomplishments. You’ve a gift, Aislinn.”

“Thank you, First Enchanter.” Release her from Cullen? That would mean… “I’m hesitant to say, but I don’t think I’m quite ready yet. If I take it too early, I…”

“Of course, child. Not yet. But perhaps closer to the end of the summer? Maybe close to All Soul’s Day. That would give you two more months to prepare,” he suggested.

“That should be sufficient,” she nodded. Two more months with Cullen. Then… this was for the best. This would keep him safe.

“Very well. I will let the Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain know. Or I suppose you can tell him, since you’ll see him sooner than I. You may go.”

It was in a hazy blur that the rest of the day passed, the words of her teachers and the other mages barely penetrating her fuzzy mind. Harrowing. Two months. No more Cullen. Right when they had just truly found each other. But the risks, well… Death. Tranquility. He would die of withdrawals. Cullen explained a bit one night a long time ago about the lyrium after she pestered him endlessly about why he took it every day and why it made his eyes glow blue and why she could hear it. Without lyrium, a templar was nothing. A mindless, suffering wreck. And even with it, one day, the insanity would come for him anyways. Seemed like a shit deal, she told him. It was worth it, he had told her, to be able to serve. But was it?

Grabbing her text, she silently followed the other mages out of her last class of the day, Cullen waiting for her as usual just outside of the door. “Ready, mage?” His voice was gruff, perhaps a bit too gruff to be normal. She barely noticed and merely nodded.

Letting her into their room, he sighed as he removed his helm. “When I said act normal, I meant normal, not as if the world was ending.”

“My Harrowing,” she blurted out, unable to contain her emotions any longer. “It’s been set. Right around All Soul’s Day, whatever that is. Two months, Orsino said? Then Meredith will release me from you and I’ll move into the enchanters’ wing.”

“Two months,” he breathed. “It’s… longer than I hoped for, actually.”

“You knew about this?”

“I had a feeling. The main reason you were given to me is because your knowledge was so woefully lacking. But now, you’ve almost caught up to everyone. It wouldn’t make sense to keep you with me. At least you’ll have a bit more time to prepare. Aislinn,” he suddenly grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, pinning her in place with an intense stare. “You must pass your Harrowing. There is no other option.”

“I know, Cullen. I just-” She leaned her head against his breastplate. “Wish we had more time. Or that we were anyplace beside here.”

“I know,” he whispered into her hair. “But enough of this talk. Meredith wants me to join Hawke tonight, there’s a group of apostates that are suspected of blood magic hiding in town and she’s ordered me to take you along for support.”

“Outside of the tower?” Aislinn stared. None of the other mages ever got to leave the tower. 

“I suspect it’s a trap,” he scowled. “She probably expects you to try to run, or turn into an abomination. Promise me you won’t do either?”

“Promise,” she chuckled. “After all, why would I want to run from you?” His answering smile was everything she ever needed.

“Grab your staff and cloak. We’re meeting Hawke in Lowtown.”

***

They all circled her like a flock of vultures, poking and prodding her arms and back. “Looks like she’s still in one piece.”

“No sunburst either.”

“Maybe an illusion?”

“She’s not Tranquil,” Cullen growled. “I told you she would be fine.”

Grinning, Hawke shrugged unrepentantly. “Forgive us if your Knight-Commander doesn’t have the most trusting reputation.” Turning away, the two men led the way, bickering as if they were almost friends, Aislinn noted.

“We never met before. Allow me to introduce myself, Varric Tethras, at your service.” She smiled over at the friendly blonde dwarf, an intricate crossbow strapped to his broad back. “So tell me, kid. How are you doing up there, for real? Hawke told me about how you went with them willingly to save everyone. Pretty noble of you.”

She shrugged. “Not really. I just don’t like fighting much. I’m okay. The Gallows is… well, I’m sure you’ve heard the stories. But people pretty much leave me alone, so that’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s when everyone starts paying attention to you that you should run,” he chuckled. “Ever been to Lowtown?”

“I’ve never been anywhere inside the city. Just the Gallows,” she wrinkled her nose, an unsavory stench filling her nostrils. It was the smell of unwashed bodies, decay, and despair. “I’m guessing this is it?”

“Yep. Home to the dregs of Kirkwall. Still a damn sight better than Darktown though.”

“Whoever made up the names for the districts needs a new job,” she commented dryly. Although it did fit. The buildings were falling apart at the seams and in desperate need of a fresh layer of paint. Or total demolition. Either one would help. This late at night, most of the streets were fairly deserted, only a few ragged men and women scurrying about, eager to get inside and away from whatever predators lurked in the dark shadows.

“In here,” Hawke called back, pointing to a dilapidated warehouse. “The Knight-Captain and Fenris’ll take point. Isabela, Varric, keep Aislinn safe and behind the rest of us.”

“Templars, fan out. Do not let anyone escape,” Cullen ordered the four other men with him. 

Mana at the ready, Aislinn crept in beside Isabela, the latter affectionately ruffling her dark tresses. “Still glad you went with them? Coulda bunked with me instead,” she winked.

“Well if I had known that,” Aislinn giggled softly. “It’s not been all bad.” Raising a hand, Hawke shot them a stern glare, motioning for them to be quiet.

The wooden corridors were dark and musty, the smell of mildew embedded in the walls around them, dozens of crates and barrels stacked haphazardly, looking for all the world as if they had been there for decades. Muffled voices could be heard just up ahead. Pulling his templars back, Cullen waited as Hawke and Fenris walked into the main room first.

“Hey guys!” she head Hawke say brightly. “What’s up?

“The Champion? What are you doing here?”

“Look, I’m going to be blunt. The templars know where you are. I convinced them to let me come along, in hopes that you guys would go quietly. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“No!” Someone shouted. “We can’t. You don’t know what it’s like. They’ll make us Tranquil, for sure! Our fates have already been decided.”

“No, wait! I don’t want to die! Let’s just go back!”

“You idiot! Would you rather be Tranquil? That’s worse than death!”

“No one will be made Tranquil if you all just come with me,” Cullen stepped smoothly into the room, taking his helm off. “Your only offense so far is escaping. A few days in solitary are your fate, nothing more. Just come along without making any trouble.”

Mutters of the “The Knight-Captain!” floated amongst the mages, a few chiming in, “Well, he’s always been courteous to us,” and “He has the Knight-Commander’s ear, after all.” Aislinn breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that they were not going to put up a fight.

“No!” the first mage yelled. “He’s lying. Don’t trust the templars!”

“He’s telling the truth!” Aislinn rushed in, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, listen to him!”

“The Knight-Captain’s pet,” the man sneered. “Like we’d listen to you. He has his cock jammed so far up inside of you, you don’t know anything, girl. She is entirely his creature! We cannot listen to them! We cannot let them take us!”

“Shit,” Varric muttered. “Well, we tried. Get back, kid.”

The room exploded into chaos. Throwing up barriers as fast as she could, Aislinn kept her back pressed to the back wall, concentrating on keeping her people healthy, throwing down paralysis glyphs where Isabela motioned, warding glyphs everywhere else she could. It seemed like an unfair fight, given that the apostates were vastly outnumbered and the templars could Purge all of their magic. And then-

Blood. An unholy scream cut through the cacophony, a creature of lava and fire rising from a swirl of crimson. “Abomination!” one of the templars screeched. Nothing could have prepared her. The song that called to her. The almost imperceptible beat of her pulse, rising to a brutal din in her head, promising her strength, wisdom, power. All of it, lying with her own body. But then she saw his face. The utter loathing and hate written all over Cullen’s handsome face, his features screwed into a rictus of disgust. That’s how he would look at her if she gave in. For what? She didn’t need the power anyways. She was a healer. Her own mana supply was enough. She was enough.

One by one, she watched as the remaining mages opened their veins, spilling their lifesblood onto the dirt, giving entrance to the demons of the Fade. And one by one, they fell, a sword or dagger plunged through their heart. Gasping with the strain, she finally let the last of her barriers fade, her knees hitting the dirt.

“You okay, precious?” Isabela knelt next to her. Aislinn wasn’t sure. She felt nauseous, shaky, and dizzy.

“Overextended herself,” Hawke rubbed her back. “Breathe, that’s it. You’ll be okay.”

“The Knight-Captain! Mage, get over here, quick!” Her head jerked up. Paces away, Cullen lay on his back, unmoving. Scrambling on the grimy floor, she shot to her feet and sprinted across the room, practically collapsing at his side.

“His armor,” she gasped, tugging at the buckles. “Get it off.” Other sword calloused hands appeared in her range of vision, deftly unfastening familiar straps as she scanned him. A demon’s claw had pierced his side, just barely missing all vital organs. Summoning the last of her mana, Aislinn cast her golden glow into his wound, watching as his flesh knit back together, the bleeding halting as his ashen pallor regained some of its former complexion.

“Will he be okay, lass?”

“He’ll live,” she whispered. Her, on the other hand...

“Aislinn, that’s enough,” she heard a man command her. “You’re depleted enough as it is. He’s stable now, let it go. Aislinn!” Just a little more, she wanted to say. She desperately needed to see him open his eyes. Just a little more.

Then the world went black.


	5. The Meaning of Despair

Cullen had been furious that she drained her mana to such a dangerous extent. He had confined her to her bed for a full week after that night, refusing to let her out of the room for anything until she about died from boredom. When he finally did let her resume her normal schedule, Vera had all but tackled her as she walked into the library.

“I thought you were dead!” she gasped, grabbing Aislinn in a fierce hug. “Or Tranquil, or- or something! What happened?”

“I had never used that much mana before,” she muttered sheepishly. “And I was so caught up in the battle and the moment, I forgot the signs for mana depletion.”

“You saved the Knight-Captain’s life though. A few of us heard the other templars talking about it.”

“Great,” she groaned, kicking at the stone floor with a slippered toe. “Now they know for sure that I’m his pet.”

“A few of them think that, yeah,” Vera shrugged. “But more of them are grateful. The Knight-Captain has been putting himself between us and the Knight-Commander’s wrath more and more recently. I wonder who’s fault that is?” Nudging her, the elf winked.

“No idea,” Aislinn replied innocently. The girls sat around a small wooden table in the quiet library, books spread out across the smooth surface but neither was in the mood to study tonight. “Say, Vera. You ever miss your clan?”

Her gaze turned wistful as her hands automatically sought a small carved bone pendant around her neck. “All the time. Every night, I dream about what if. What if I hadn’t gotten separated from the group that day? What if I hadn’t argued with my brother and stormed off on my own? What if the templars never found me?” She sighed. “No use in what ifs though. Can’t change the past. Why? Missing your family?”

“Can’t miss what you never had,” Aislinn muttered. “My mother left me when I was a baby, and my father died a few years later. Grew up in an orphanage. I had friends that were close enough to family, though. I miss them. Just morbidly thinking today. If I died, who would miss me?”

“Me, you stupid shem,” Vera smacked her arm. “And the Knight-Captain.”

“Stop it,” she tried to fight her blush. “He would be relieved to be free of me.” Even as she said the words, she knew that there was no one that would be convinced by her tone.

“Liar. I see how his face soften when he looks at you. Words never match his eyes. Don’t worry,” she winked. “I won’t tell. He is pretty cute, for a human. Probably too hairy for my tastes though.”

“Vera,” she hissed. “Stop!”

“You’re blushing,” she giggled. “Creators, look at you! Like a tomato. Alright, alright I’ll stop. How’s the alchemy coming along?”

“I think I’ve finally regained half of the feeling in my fingers,” Aislinn wryly lifted a hand, her fingertips smooth and unmarked from the numerous burns she had suffered. “Stupid deathroot that had to explode. I’m getting better though. The Tranquil are excellent teachers, surprisingly enough, although creepy.”

“Clarence,” Vera sighed sadly. “He was one of the best potion makers. Never did get the hang of magic, but talented at everything else. He’s one of the rare mages who asked to be made Tranquil. Too scared of his own power.”

“He… asked?” Aislinn couldn’t fathom such a thing. As much as death terrified her, the idea of Tranquility was so much worse. To lose everything that you were, your hopes, dreams, emotions, to not be able to feel anything ever again- it was beyond death. She would kill herself before she let anyone make her Tranquil.

"Some do. Not very often, of course, but..." Glancing around the room, she saw the huddles of mages, almost everyone talking in hushed whispers under the watchful eyes of the armored templars. "It's the damn Chantry," she muttered low enough so her voice wouldn't carry. "Magic is a gift from the Creators. But all they teach is fear. The Dalish embrace our talents, and while possession does happen, it's so much more rare. And our justice is just as swift."

"I think I would like the Dalish. They sound like a reasonable people. You think I could pass as an elf?"

Vera about fell out of her chair, cackling loud enough to make the entire room stop and stare at them. "You-" she wheezed, "Have got to be the only human I've ever heard who _wants_ to be an elf. I wish I could see my Keeper's face if he heard that." Wiping a tear from her eye, the elf continued to giggle, her face dancing with mirth. 

“Mage. It’s time to leave.” Nodding quickly at the looming templar, she gathered up her books, smiling at Vera.

“See you tomorrow.”

“What were you two giggling about?” Cullen asked once they were back in their room.

“I said I wanted to be an elf. She thought it was funny," Aislinn shrugged. "Before that, she was teasing me. About you. She’s seen the way you look at me.”

“The way I-” groaning, he flopped back onto a chair, metal clanging together as he sat. “I thought I was being discreet.”

“I thought so, too. But no one else has said anything yet, right? So maybe she’s just more observant than most.”

“Let’s hope so,” he muttered darkly. “Else we are in trouble.”

“Should we stop then?” Sliding her skirts up over her bare legs, Aislinn straddled his lap, bending her head to nip at his lip.

“We should,” he murmured, untying the leather thong that held her braid back and running his fingers through the silky waves. “This is dangerous.”

“Fine,” she sighed as she straightened her back. “Let’s stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, yanking her back in close. Swallowing her amusement, his lips moved over hers, tasting her sweet skin, their tongues dancing together, memorizing every dip and curve of each other’s mouth. Hands roamed over with a familiarity that bordered on possession, easily finding the ties and clasps of her robes and slipped the heavy fabric over her head. “You are- Maker's breath, but you are gorgeous.”

“So are you,” leaning back, she smiled at him, brilliant like the sun over the Amaranthine Sea. Suddenly, a vision of her with a sunburst emblazoned on her head shot through his head, her sparkling eyes dull and empty, words flat and hollow. Gripped by an all-consuming terror, he hugged her to his chest in an iron grip, crushing her against his chilled breastplate. _Never_ , he vowed silently to himself. I will never allow that to happen.

“Cullen,” her voice was muffled, “Your armor is pinching me.”

“Oh! Sorry,” he sheepishly released her, rubbing the red marks left on her skin.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” she teased. “That you should take it off.”

“Is that what my lady wishes?” Smirking, he watched as she stood up, sinuously arching her spine, her breasts pushing up obscenely. All rational thought fled his mind. Sensuously, tantalizingly she sauntered away from him, her hips swinging seductively as she disappeared into the bedroom. Cullen had never removed his armor so fast in his life, nor had he ever simply left the treasured pieces on the floor scattered haphazardly like he did tonight. Stripping his clothing off, he stood in front of her, watching from under hooded eyes as she perched on the edge of the bed.

Humming with approval, Aislinn dropped to her knees, her eyes wide and dark with desire. His erection bobbed before her, mere inches from her mouth.

“W-what-”

“Shh,” reaching out a hand, she tentatively stroked his velvety length, “Is this okay?”

Clenching his fists by his side, Cullen gave her a shaky nod. She scooted closer, her eyes locking on his as she continued to tease him, smearing a bit of his precome around the tip. “A-Aislinn, that- ah!” Her lips wrapped around his girth and gently covered him, sliding down at the most agonizingly slow pace, down, down, until he felt the back of her throat. It was too much, warm and wet and _Maker_ , the things her tongue was doing, flicking over his weeping slit, caressing the underside of his head- it was sheer heaven.

She could drown in his scent, warm musk and sandalwood soap and clean skin. And the sounds he was making, dear God; her arousal leaked down her thigh as he continued to voice his approval of her ministrations. She loved it, this feeling of heady power he gave her. Her beautiful templar. Taking one hand, she wrapped her fingers around his base and squeezed just as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked, _hard._

“Too much,” he gasped, yanking her back. A violent shudder wracked his body as he fought for control. “I want to feel you come around me before I do.”

“Take me then,” she offered him a sultry smile.

Hauling her back to the bed by the waist, he reverently laid her out on the sheets, trailing his calloused hands down the smooth line of her waist. “Mine,” he stared at her perfection.

“Yours,” she agreed. He wanted to make this last. Taste her, feel her on his tongue, around his fingers. But more than anything, he needed to be inside of her. Thrusting his hips against hers, he slowly pressed his way in, feeling her natural resistance give way as she stretched deliciously around his member. “Ahh,” her groan was low and throaty, “Just like that.”

Taking his agonizingly sweet time, he slowly dragged himself in and out of her, savoring the feel of her walls clenching around him, drawing him in deeper. The silence of their room was only punctuated by their soft moans and sharp gasps, the stillness of the night transporting them to another time and place. Somewhere they could be together. As a couple. As a family. As husband and wife. Not just templar and mage. They were so much more now. Times like this, it was easy to lose themselves, forget that just outside those doors was a world that forbade their love. In here, it was just the two of them. Cullen and Aislinn.

“I love you,” he murmured, drowning in her bright stare.

“I love you, too,” throwing her head back, her nails raked down his skin as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“Maker’s breath,” hissing at the sight, he snapped his hips back and pounded into her, suddenly desperate to feel her come undone. Suddenly, her world flipped upside down as he rolled over onto his back, still seated deep within her. Her palms rested against his chest, the veil of her hair brushing against her back, shrouding his face from the moonlight as she bent over to capture his lips in a bruising kiss.

“Right there,” she wailed into his mouth, her hips pumping frantically around his throbbing cock. “Yesyesyesyes-” He felt her body tense just before he let his own orgasm rush through him, his seed pulsing in time with her spasms, head buzzing with pleasure at their shared release. Time ceased to have meaning. Suspended in this moment, where all each was aware of was the other, his heart pounding against hers, her body snuggled against his, his arms holding her tight.

"You are," he sighed. "I've never felt like this, not about anyone before." Grabbing her face, he pressed kisses wherever he could reach until she collapsed against him in a fit of giggles. 

“You kissed my eyeball!”

“Well, it is a rather perfect eyeball,” he grinned unrepentantly. 

Aislinn snorted, readjusting her body around him, his softening length still snug inside of her. “Can we just stay like this? Forever?”

He smiled into her hair. What he wouldn’t give to grant her wish. “As long as you want, sweetling.”

***

Cullen came in that night to find her ensconced in a pile of blankets before the fire, curled up in a tiny ball. “Everything alright, love?”

“Cramps,” she muttered. “And nauseous.”

Kneeling beside her, he gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Need me to get you anything?”

“A dagger so I can stab myself.”

He rolled his eyes at her response, used to her dramatics around her moon cycles. “Anything less fatal?”

“No, thank you.”

That’s all she thought it truly was. But the cramps took over two weeks to finally subside. And the nausea only got worse, along with several other symptoms that could only mean one thing.

That day, after her last class was over, Cullen had watched in confusion as she darted around the library, frantically rifling through tome after tome, shoving each one back in with a violence he had never before seen from her when she did not find what she was looking for. Until she did. Snatching the heavy book off the shelf, she sprinted to an empty table and pulled out a scrap of parchment, furiously scribbling notes in her messy handwriting before stalking over to him.

“Can we go back now, Knight-Captain? I’m still not feeling well.”

“Fine, mage, I have work of my own, anyways.” It was difficult holding his tongue on the long climb back down into the barracks, his words building up pressure behind his throat. But it was clear he wouldn’t get answers immediately.

Aislinn burst into their room and instantly began pacing, muttering to herself under her breath as she read and reread the paper in her hands. Nothing he said could shake her out of her trance, so he decided to give her space, taking the time to remove his armor and change. Had something happened? He had noticed she was growing more distant lately, but she had been ill with a mild case of something, so he tried not to worry about it much, attributing her mood to her exasperation with the lingering sickness.

Finally pausing by the window, she sunk down to the floor, eyes closed and back pressed against the wall. Her voice was too low for him to catch, but he felt her reach for her mana, the soft golden glow of her Creation magic pooling beneath her hands, over her stomach. Was she trying to find the cause of her ailment?

With a sharp cry, her eyes flew open, her body lurching forward. Her hands and knees slammed into the hard stone as her breaths came in short, rasping gasps. He couldn’t take it anymore. Rushing to her side, Cullen grabbed her waist and yanked her into his lap. 

“Aislinn, talk to me,” he begged. “What is going on?

Her eyes raised to meet his, dark and haunted. “I’m-” she whispered. “I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh nooooooeeees


	6. Desperation

“I’m pregnant.”

The world went silent and still. Frozen in an icy void. Such simple words, but he felt their power. Ending everything. _But the witherstalk_ , he wanted to shout. It had been a chore to source some and make sure she had an endless supply of the contraceptive herb, but he knew. It was only effective up to a certain point. There had always been a risk. And now they would both die, the baby along with her.

“I’m sorry.” Cullen said the only words he could think of. “I’m so sorry, Linn, this is all my fault, I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, his eyes burning with tears, clutching her tight as if he could shield her from whatever was to come.

“It’s not your fault,” her voice was muffled, face buried in his shirt. “Don’t you dare put this all on yourself, Cullen.”

“It is,” he replied bitterly. “If only I hadn’t kissed you that night, if I had let you go with Hawke that first time we met- _Hawke_.” Jerking back, he stared down at her. “Hawke. I have to go see him.”

“Why?” Her fingers tightened in his shirt, dark eyes brimming with tears. Gently, he wiped one sparkling droplet away.

“He might be able to help us. Aislinn, the only way you live is if we can get you out of here. You have to escape,” desperation tinged his tone as he gently shook her shoulders. “Hawke might be able to help.”

“But if I escape, what will happen to you?” Raising her hand, she cupped his cheek, rubbing the stubbled skin with her soft thumb.

“It doesn't matter. You and the babe- _our_ babe,” he choked out, “Have a chance to survive. I have to take that chance, no matter what.” Fiercely kissing her, he drank in the feel of her in his arms, warm and solid, comforting. The love of his life. A mage. The future mother of his child. “I’m going to be a father. I-I’ll take a personal day tomorrow, ask Ser Thrask to watch over you. It will be okay, Linn.”

“Just don’t let them make me Tranquil,” she begged, fear shining all over her face. “Anything else, but not that.”

“Maker,” he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, the vision of her with that damn sunburst returning in full force to taunt him. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” his words seemed to knock all the breath out of her, her body slumping against his. Picking her up, he gently carried her into their room, tucking her into his bed.

“Sleep, love. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“I love you, Cullen,” she held out a hand for him, smiling as he took it and kissed her palm.

“And I, you. More than anything.”

***

He left before she woke up the next day, eager to get into the city as soon as possible to track down Hawke. The man was usually out late at night, he knew, so hopefully by showing up early Cullen could catch the Champion at home.

A dwarf opened up the front door when he knocked, cheerily waving him in. “Messere Hawke is currently sleeping, ser. Perhaps you can leave a message and return later?”

“It is urgent, please,” Cullen begged. “Tell him the Knight-Captain is here, for a… personal favor.”

“The Knight-Captain,” the dwarf’s eyes boggled. “At once, ser.”

Bodahn raced up the stairs into his master’s bedroom, timidly knocking at the door. “Messere Hawke? There is a guest here to see you. The Knight-Captain.”

“Tell him to bugger off,” came the grumbled reply.

“He says it’s urgent. And personal?” That got Hawke’s attention. Grabbing the nearest pair of trousers, he didn’t bother with a shirt as he stumbled out of his room, blearily rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Knight-Captain. To what do I owe the honor? And you in regular clothes, no less. I didn’t think you owned anything besides plate,” he grinned.

“Hawke. I need a favor,” Cullen started forward.

“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “This should be good.”

“I need you to smuggle a mage out of the circle.”

“Uh.” Hawke gaped at the templar. “Is this a trap? Because it sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not, I-” a shattered groan escaped the blonde man, Cullen staggering a few steps back. Leading him over to the sofa, Hawke gently shoved the man onto the cushions and poured a liberal serving of whiskey into a glass. “It’s barely after dawn.”

“You look like you need it. And I’m still drunk. Now, what is this about?”

“Aislinn,” he replied quietly. “I don’t know if you ever heard the rumors, but when I took her back to the Gallows, Meredith gave her into my responsibility until she passed her Harrowing. Aislinn has been sharing my quarters for the past year, rarely leaving my sight. And now… she’s pregnant.”

“Rutherford,” Hawke’s eyes blazed. “What the hell did you do to her?!”

“It’s not like that!” he insisted. “I- I _love_ her. She loves me. If anyone else finds out about this, she’ll be killed or worse. I can’t let that happen, please Hawke, I’m begging you,” he pleaded, desperation evident in his tone. “Get her out of there. Hide her where the templars can’t find her.”

“Andraste’s tits,” the Champion breathed. “You’re serious. You’re fucking serious.”

“More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life,” Cullen answered solemnly. “Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” he said immediately. Draining his glass, Hawke rested his elbows on his knees and studied the other man. “Ok. So here’s what I’m thinking.”

***

The plan was set for a week away. Anders, a former circle mage and friend of Hawke, managed to find the secret exit within the Gallows that a few apostates had used, leading straight into Darktown. Hawke would call Cullen away on business, so that no one would suspect the Knight-Captain’s hand in her escape. Simple, easy. Until it wasn’t.

“They found the exit,” Cullen’s face was deathly pale. “The other templars sealed it this morning. I- I don’t know what to do. Aislinn, I…”

“Shhh, love. We’ll find a way. I won’t lose you either,” she whispered. “Go see Hawke. Maybe he has another idea.”

Turned out that the Champion did have another idea. Or rather, his friend Varric did. But it was too risky. The chances of her getting caught were astronomical. It was her only hope.

The night they had been waiting for came all too quickly. Standing against the doorframe, Cullen watched with a heavy heart as she moved around their room, listlessly picking up things and setting them back down. There was nothing she could risk taking, not even her staff. Especially her staff. It was hard for him to imagine that when he came back here, she would be gone. For good. Traces of her were everywhere, the smell of her soap in his pillow, a ribbon for her hair on his desk, ink smudges from where she spilled a whole pot of ink on the rug, a smiley face she had carved into the queen of his chess set. Everywhere.

“Are you ready?” His voice seemed to ring in the silence.

“No,” she whispered. “Cullen…” Spinning around, she launched herself at him. “I love you. No matter what happens. Don’t you dare ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I love you. More than reason itself. Obviously. Oh, I have something for you.” Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a slim dagger, barely longer than her palm. “In case, you’re-” In case you’re caught, he wanted to say, but found that he couldn’t. Nodding her understanding, she took the sharp blade and tucked it into the boots he had brought her that morning. They were easier to run in than her slippers. “Do you remember the plan?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Get out to the courtyard. Far northwestern corner. They’ll be waiting for me there. It’s time, Cullen.”

One more kiss was all they had time for, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He could have the rest of his life with her, and he would still want more. Selfish, really. But he didn’t care. The taste of her salty tears, or maybe it was his, lingered on his tongue as they broke apart, Aislinn trembling in his arms. “You can do this, Linn. I have faith in you. Andraste watch over you.”

And then he was gone. Sinking into his desk chair, Aislinn counted the notches on the candle as it melted, waiting for the right hour to leave. Had she ever felt so alone? The idea of death, she found, strangely enough didn’t bother her. It was the thought of his face, how he would react to her death that caused her the most grief. It would break him. And that she could not do.

The last of the wax in the final notch finally dripped away. With limbs that were not her own, Aislinn blew out the flame and took one last look around the small chamber. Where she had first been brought. Where they had first kissed. Where they had fallen in love. So many memories in such a tiny space. But they both knew this was only going to end in heartbreak. At least this way, they both had a chance of surviving. 

Grabbing her cloak, she eased open the door, glancing down the corridor. Deserted. Trying her best to blend in with the shadows, she sprinted from alcove to alcove, keeping a firm grip on her mana and a tighter rein on her breathing. Several times, the sound of armored boots clacking against stone came far too close to where she hid, pressed against a wall, praying to every deity that existed in this place to let her pass. After what seemed like hours, a rush of cool night air rose to greet her, ruffling the few loose strands of hair that escaped her bun. Carefully, silently, she crept along the dark wall, thankful that the courtyard was completely empty tonight. She stopped beside a large rosebush and knocked against the stone.

Almost immediately, a knotted rope fell from the sky, Aislinn grabbing ahold of it immediately. Her robes snagged a couple of times as she hauled herself up, but miraculously, she made it to the top. And dropped down. Hands tugged at her robes she was wearing, slipping the familiar mage clothing over head, and an outfit of leather and fur was given to her in her place. Isabela bent over in front of her, a stub of charcoal in her hand, and began to carefully draw on her face.

“That doesn’t even look like vallaslin,” Varric squinted his eyes at Aislinn’s face. 

“Hush. It doesn’t have to look exact, just enough to throw the guards off if they glance at her,” Isabela muttered. “There. Now keep your hood up and don’t talk in anything louder than a whisper, got it?”

Aislinn nodded. They were so close. Wordlessly, her heart beating so loud she was sure everyone in a three mile radius could hear the traitorous organ, she followed the rogues as they slipped out of the Gallows and down to the docks. “Sit here, slump over,” Varric pointed to a stack of barrels, out of sight of the water. “I see their boat, they’re almost back.”

She heard the oars splashing in the waves, the thick rope rasping against the wooden pegs as the rowboat was secured, footsteps echoing off the docks. “Miss us, guys? Sorry we had to leave you behind.” Hawke’s voice, she thought.

“Got kind of bored, but we lived. Barely,” Isabela sighed dramatically. “Can we go? I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Thanks again for your help, Knight-Captain.”

“Anytime you need help against blood mages, we’re always willing. It is our job, after all,” Cullen replied wryly. He sounds almost normal. She could have wept at the sound of his voice. So close, and so far away. “Safe travels back.”

They waited until the templars had retreated back past the Gallows’ gate before tapping Aislinn on the arm. “Oy, I didn’t see her there,” the templar manning the boats frowned as a small, cloaked figure appeared. 

“Merrill? She was here the whole time. Ask the last rotation if you don’t believe me,” Hawke shrugged at the man’s dubious glance. “Insisted on coming along because she was bored, but joke’s on her because she got left behind anyways,” he chuckled. “Probably for the best, since she’s still sick.”

“Yeah, Mer. I don’t know why you didn’t just stay in bed,” Varric sighed exasperatedly.

“Sorry,” Aislinn whispered hoarsely. “I thought I was feeling better.”

“And now you’re even worse. Andraste’s knickerweasels, what am I going to do with you, kitten?” Isabela pat her head. “Well, let’s get back and get you in bed.” Peeking into the hooded cloak, the templar paused for a second, then shrugged.

“Why did you guys stay, anyways?”

“Knight-Captain brought too many templars,” Hawke rolled his eyes. “Not enough room on the boat.”

“He was just being cautious,” the templar scolded. “We’re more useful against blood magic than rogues.”

“That you are, my friend. Now, can we go?”

“Alright, get in.”

It was easy to feign being sick as the trembling in her body increased the longer the boat ride went on. Thankful for her hood and the night to hide her tears, Aislinn sniffed several times, drawing her cloak tighter around her. Cullen would have gone back to their room by now and found it empty. He had probably already raised the alarm, templars scouring the tower for any sign of her disappearance. They would find none. “Almost there, kitten,” Isabela murmured. “Then we’ll get you all bundled up by the fire, some nice, hot tea. Okay?” She nodded shakily. _Almost there. Almost there._

The water was freezing as a few drops splashed her as they docked, the templar resting the oars against the boat. Taking Hawke’s hand, Aislinn let the larger man pull her onto the docks and sweep her towards the city.

They had made it. She was out of the circle. An apostate. Like Hawke. Like so many others in this cursed city. But she was free. Her and her baby, they had a chance now. And yet… Cullen. She was so used to seeing him every day, waking up cuddled around his firm chest, his arms holding her tight. How could she live without him?

Ugh, that was ridiculous. She had lived long before he ever came into her life, and she would not crumble just because he was not a constant fixture any longer. He still loved her. She would still get to see him. Their child would know its father. And that was infinitely better than the alternative. _Stupid hormones, turning me into such a sap. Too many damn emotions._

It felt like there were eyes all over the city tonight, staring, watching, judging her. Every step she took, she expected the templars to burst out of a side alley, screaming as they took her back. She could already smell the lyrium brand in the air, sharp and metallic, burning into her skin. _No. That will not happen. I refuse_. The skin warmed dagger pressed against her calf reminded her of that.

After what felt like years later, Hawke finally ushered her through a back gate into a large, well-kept mansion. The living room was warm and inviting, a roaring fire in the hearth, soft cushioned sofa set close to the heat. “Home sweet home,” he bowed to her. “Empty room is up the stairs on the left. That will be yours.”

“I still can’t believe you’re letting me live with you,” she smiled up at the mage. “Thank you.”

Hawke waved her off. “Bodahn and Orana love babies, they said. And this house could use some more life. So, how does it feel to be free?”

“I’m not sure yet. I still can’t believe this isn’t all a dream. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow here instead of the dungeons at the Gallows, I’ll let you know what I think,” she sank down into a chair, feeling like the room was crashing down on her shoulders. “Cullen must be relieved. I hope no one suspects him. They won’t, right?”

“They shouldn’t,” Varric stretched out across from her with a glass of whiskey in his hand. “He’ll be around sometime in the next couple weeks to check on you, he said. When are you due again?”

“Wintermarch, by my count. I think. It’s not an exact science.”

“Do you need anything, pet?” Isabela curled up beside her, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I- I think I just need to be alone for a bit, if you don’t mind,” Aislinn whispered.

“Of course not. You’ve just been through quite the ordeal.” Nodding her thanks, she silently slipped up the large stairwell, tracing her fingers over the smooth banister. It was all light here, and warmth, and softness. Nothing like the Gallows. And yet…

It was empty. So very, very empty. The door clicked softly behind her as she pulled it shut, the adrenaline fueling her body finally giving way to total exhaustion. Collapsing on the floor, it was here she finally allowed herself to weep, for what was and what was still yet to come.


	7. Chapter 7

Life got very boring, very quickly. Having to stay hidden inside, away from the templars, grated on her nerves. She was not used to being still, useless, or idle. Hawke was gone most of the time, running around Kirkwall, doing odd jobs and managing his few business ventures, so her main source of company was his staff, Bodahn, his son Sandal, and Orana. Bodahn immediately took a liking to the sweet mage, deciding to spend his free time carving her a beautiful crib and rocking chair for the coming babe, while Orana shyly offered to teach Aislinn her domestics skills, mainly cooking and sewing. 

It was almost two weeks after she escaped that Cullen finally managed to come visit. Aislinn had been curled up on the sofa along with Orana, the elf attempting to show her how to knit a tiny hat when the entire house had shook from the force of the knock, pounding on the door. Throwing the door open, poor Bodahn was practically shoved aside as a large, blonde man came barreling in, amber eyes frantically searching the room until they alighted on her.

“Aislinn,” he breathed, and he seemed to completely deflate. Staggering toward her, she met him halfway in a clumsy sprint, both of them collapsing to the floor, clutching each other for dear life. “Hawke told me you were safe, but I didn’t dare hope, not until I could see you with my own eyes,” he murmured. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

“Thanks to you, and Hawke,” she smiled through her tears. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and talk.” Taking his hand firmly within hers, she held him as if she was afraid he would disappear on her. “What happened after I left?”

“Chaos,” he sighed. “The entire tower was searched from top to bottom, almost every mage and templar questioned. You made a good call in not telling Vera anything. It was obvious that she knew nothing, so she received no punishment.”

“And you?”

He turned his gaze to the ceiling, leaning back onto her bed. “Meredith was… furious. But it was clear my lock had been tampered with, that you escaped on your own. And since I was not within the Gallows when it happened… her threats to demote me were just that, mere threats. She does have me under extra surveillance, however. I can’t stay long tonight. I just had to see you,” pulling her down to him, he tucked her securely against his side. “I plan on actually using my time off now that I have a reason to, one day every two weeks, but I have to do it carefully. It would raise too much suspicion if I started leaving regularly for personal business. I need to be seen out and about, so that the others also on leave witness me drinking and the like. But I swear, I will be here as often as I can.”

 

“Whenever you can manage, love. I know it won’t be easy,” she stretched up to kiss his cheek.

Tracing her face with a rough finger, he smiled down at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. A bit nauseous, but nothing too bad. I am slowly dying of boredom, however. And it’s only been two weeks.” Her face was expectant as she peered up at him.

“And what is your proposal?” he asked warily.

Bracing herself, she took a deep breath. “Anders has clinic he runs, and could use help and-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cullen, just every now and then, I could be useful-”

“No, Aislinn.”

“Why?”

“He’s an apostate!” he spluttered. “And his clinic is in Darktown, yes I know the one you’re talking about. The people he sees there are absolutely filthy and the entire area is unsafe, home to the worst kind of rabble. You are carrying our child. I’ll not have you at risk like that.”

Sighing, she sat up and turned back to face him. “Cullen, I really wasn’t asking for your permission.” His expression grew thunderous. “The people are filthy because they have no choice. None of them asked to live there, or to be born without money. They need help, and I can give them at least a little aid. None of the bandits or gang members harass Anders. They know he’s their only hope if something happens to them or their loved ones. And I’m an apostate as well now, or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he grumbled. “What if you get sick?”

“I’ll take precautions. I’m not going to put our baby at risk. Anyone who is contagious I won’t see.”

“I don’t suppose I could say anything to change your mind,” he sighed wearily. “Just… be careful? Don’t go alone please. If anything happened to you, I’m not sure what I would do.” Pulling her back in close, his nose nuzzled her face, hands tenderly grasping the back of her neck, lips searching for hers. Aislinn fell into his warmth, eagerly returning his affections, trying to hold him tighter, closer, never wanting to let him go.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And as often as I am able. Is there anything you’d like for me to bring you when I come next?”

“Just you.” Her smile lit up his entire world, a beacon of hope and beauty in his otherwise dark and morose world. What did I ever do to deserve her?

“Oh, here,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a heavy sack of coin. “For whatever you need, and to help Hawke cover whatever expenses he incurs while you stay here. There should be enough in there for some new clothes, for you and the… babe.”

“We have some months before we’ll need that,” she laughed. “But I’m sure Hawke’ll appreciate the money.” 

Standing up, they descended back down into the living room, pausing in the foyer, Aislinn reveling in the feel of the warm breeze from outside that crept in along the edges. “I love you. I’ll try to send word of when I’ll be here next.”

“I love you, too. Be careful, love.”

“You as well.” With one last lingering kiss, he smiled tenderly at her, and was gone.

***

The days began to pass much faster now that she had a purpose. Anders welcomed her help with great gusto, and immediately set her to healing a broken leg the second she popped into his clinic the first day. But the people, oh the people…

Aislinn had never seen such despair. Dirty, grimy faces and bodies, wearing clothes that were closer to rags than actual garments, hollow eyes- it was beyond anything she had ever seen before. But at least she could help alleviate their suffering down here, soothe their sick child, heal their persistent cough, take away their toothache for the time being. It was good, meaningful work.

Meanwhile, her belly continued to grow, until she felt like she would literally burst at the seams. Cullen loved it. As soon as she began showing, he would spend all of his time laying next to her, his hands on her stomach, caressing and talking to the little life within. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. Not to mention how much more amorous her new appearance made him.

“Cullen, I’m huge right now. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” he purred. “You’re even more beautiful like this. Full and heavy with my child. And your breasts, Maker your breasts,” burying his face in her bosom, his loud moan was enough to send a flood of arousal straight to her core. “I should just keep you pregnant all the time.”

“That would be- ah! Highly impractical,” she gasped. His hands were sliding up her legs, pushing her skirts up over her hips, his hot breath inching closer to her heat. 

“You taste so different right now,” his tongue drew a long swipe up her seam. “I can’t get enough.” She was sweeter, richer, muskier, and absolute heaven to his senses. Digging his hands into her thighs, he gently teased at her already slick folds, nibbling on her overly sensitive clit. “I need more.” Willingly, she pulled her dress over her head, smiling at the sight of him looming over her, naked, her juices glistening on his chin. There was nothing more erotic than the sight of him, exposed and wanting, his eyes darkened to a deep copper. “Flip over.”

Pushing herself onto her hands and knees, she let out a sharp gasp as he penetrated her from behind, his fingers lightly rubbing her sides. Suddenly, a sharp jab poked him against his palm. Aislinn giggled. “Baby says hi.”

Chuckling, he pushed back and was rewarded with another tiny kick. “Hello, little one.” His strokes were smooth and deep, dragging and such sweet torture. Their pants mingled in the warm air, and he could swear her heart was beating in time with his. How he wished he could marry her. Take her away from this cursed city. Build her a little cottage in the country somewhere, where they could raise their family, maybe get a dog. Or two. Lightly grabbing her around the throat, he pushed her lower back down a bit more, thrusting deeper inside of her, eliciting the sweetest scream. “Maker,” he groaned, “You’re so noisy now. The entire house can hear you.”

“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Please, Cullen, please!” A few well placed flicks of his thumb later, and he felt her walls clench tightly around him, her throaty moans sending shockwaves straight down to his member. He could never last long when she was loud like this. Leaning back, he snapped his hips once, twice, and shuddered as he came inside of her, filling her entirely with his seed. With a contented sigh, he fell onto the bed next to her, heedless of the sticky mess all over his thighs and hers. Dropping to her side, she gave a contented, cat-like stretch, pushing her belly and breasts out more.

“Stop that,” he murmured huskily. “Or I’ll have to take you again.”

 

“Oh, you’ll have to, will you,” she teased.

“Yes. I’m not responsible for the things your body does to mine,” he grinned, placing a hand back onto her gravid stomach. “Maker’s breath, but she’s active.”

“She?” Aislinn smiled bemusedly at him.

“I have a feeling,” he kissed where a tiny foot was pressing against her skin. “I think she wants out.”

“Her and I both. Should be any day now. I can’t wait,” she groaned. “I’m so uncomfortable. And I have to pee like twenty thousand times a day. Also, she keeps kicking my lungs.”

“That sounds…. Difficult.” Moving down on the bed, he rested his cheek against her belly. “I can’t wait to meet you, little one. There is so much I want to show you, that I want to teach you. I-” His eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I wish things could be different.”

“Me, too. Me, too.”

***

It was on the coldest night of the year so far, when Hawke was home, along with Varric, Isabela, Merrill and Fenris, that her water broke. They had all been sitting down to supper when it had happened. 

“What’s wrong, pet? Baby kicking again?” Isabela turned back, her brow furrowed in consternation as Aislinn gripped the countertop tightly.

“I- I think my water broke,” she whispered. As literally everyone fled the room, Merrill practically bounced up to her, excitement shining in her eyes.

“Oh, it’s time! It’s time! Can someone go get Anders?” A veritable stampede of footsteps could be heard as the others all vied to be to the one to leave. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.” Quickly, the elven mage rattled off several instructions to Hawke and Fenris and Orana, the two men the unlucky ones who had been left behind. Stripping down to just a thin shift, Aislinn paced the length of her room slowly for the next several hours under the watchful eye of Anders and Merrill, pausing only to breathe through her increasing contractions.

“We got a message to Cullen. Earliest he can come is this weekend. I’m sorry, Aislinn,” Hawke called from just outside the door.

“It’s okay,” she replied weakly. “I had a feeling.”

The hours dragged on into the early dawn, pale yellow light streaming across the navy rug in her room. Whimpering slightly, she turned her head to the side to watch the little motes of dust dance in the sunbeam.

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Anders patted her arm. “Just let me know when you get the urge to push.”

Nodding, she laid her head back on her sweat soaked pillow weakly. She was so tired. Everything hurt. Didn’t women used to die in childbirth back in the old days, before modern medicine? Did magic count as modern medicine? Briefly, she wondered what would happen to her child if she didn’t make it. I can’t think like that. I’m just exhausted. This will soon all be over and- “Anders? I need to push.” Grabbing ahold of the bedframe, Merrill stood to one side of her while Anders helped support the rest of her weight.

“That’s it, one more push, you can do it!”

“You’re doing so well, Linn. One more push.”

“If someone tells me one more push again, I will punch you.”

“There! The head, Creators, look at all that hair!” The pressure that had built to an incredible fiery burn suddenly subsided, all the tension in her body rushing out in a wave as she felt the infant slip out, held securely in Merrill’s hands. “It’s a boy, oh look how handsome he is!”

“A- a boy? _I wonder if Cullen will mind._

"He's beautiful," the elf cooed as she cleaned him off. "I'll trim the cord in a little bit. Here, meet your son."

 _He's so tiny._ Holding the babe awkwardly in one arm, Aislinn carefully counted each of his perfect little fingers and toes, running a hand over his downy cheek, tracing the wrinkles on his fragile body. Her laugh was bright and clear as he furrowed his brow, clearly displeased with the alien sensation of cold and light. _He looks just like Cullen._ "Welcome to the world, baby."


	8. New Life

“Where is she?!”

Glancing up, Hawke pursed his lips as the Knight-Captain burst into his house, his thin linen tunic matted to his chest with sweat, as if he had run all the way from the Gallows to Hightown. Then again, perhaps he had. “She’s upstairs, but Rutherford-”

Pushing past the other man, Cullen made for the stairs, only to stop in his tracks as a slim Dalish woman exited the kitchen, cradling a small bundle. “But first, would you like to meet your son?”

“My… son?” he gaped, hesitantly taking the carefully swaddled baby. A tiny, perfect face stared back at him, with amber eyes that were almost as dark as his mother’s, and wispy, dark brown hair. _He rather looks like Branson did as a babe_ , he thought fondly. A son. _His_ son.

“Aislinn is upstairs, resting. She’s still exhausted from the labor and sore, but both mother and baby are perfectly healthy,” Merrill smiled. Mother. Baby. This perfect creature in his arms, that was staring at him with his eyes and his mother’s lips was his _son_. He was dreaming, he had to be. Then again, the Fade was never as pleasant as this. Glancing up, Cullen waited for a demon to show itself, for the room to fall away into an all too familiar stone circular room, but the present remained. Fire crackling. Hawke and Merrill watching, waiting for him to react. A tiny fist waving just before his face.

This was real. Nodding to the elf, he slowly walked up the stairs, never taking his gaze off his son. “I know I won’t be around much,” he murmured quietly, “But I want you to know how much I love you. I hope you never doubt that. I will always be there for you, just like I’ll always be there for your mother.” The baby blinked and yawned his understanding.

“You found him,” a soft voice called as he entered her room. Her smile was even more radiant now than he had ever seen it before, if such a thing were even possible. Trembling, he gingerly sat on the edge of the mattress, and attempted to muster a smile for her, still too much in shock to do anything besides examine the little baby in his arms. His fingernails were perfect, he marveled.

“He’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I look frightful, don’t I,” she sighed, patting her limp, lifeless hair and sallow skin.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. It was true. Even though her eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, she was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Have you named him yet?”

“I was waiting on you. Anything you were thinking of in particular?”

For minute, he simply stared at her and the babe, the wheels in his brain churning. “Lochlan,” he said finally. “It was my grandfather’s name. I never met him, he died alongside Queen Rowan during the Ferelden rebellion, but by all accounts, he was a good man, honest and brave.”

“Lochlan, then. Lochlan Rutherford.”

“You would give him my name?” he asked with genuine surprise.

“Should I not?”

“No, I just… did not expect it,” he smiled sheepishly at her. “Lochlan Rutherford. Hello, Lochlan. Er, goodnight,” chuckling, he felt his heart melt as the tiny babe snuggled against his chest, eyelids fluttering shut as he slipped into sleep. “Maker, I can’t believe he’s here. How are you feeling, love?”

“Tired. Sore. Everything that I expected,” she yawned. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Smiling at his eager tone, she reached out to squeeze his free arm.

“Stay. For as long as you can.”

Carefully laying his son on the bed for a moment, Cullen quickly pulled off his tunic and breeches, crawling into bed next to her and positioning the infant between them. “This seems surreal,” he whispered, as if he were afraid to break whatever spell was cast over them. “You, me, our child. I never dreamed this could be possible.” A huge grin threatened to split his face in two as Lochlan reached up to grab his father’s finger, eyes still firmly shut against the world. “He’s got the grip of a swordsman already.”

“No fighting,” Aislinn mumbled. Despite her desire to stay awake and spend time with her lover, the need for sleep was quickly overtaking her.

“Rest, sweetling,” leaning over, he brushed his lips over her wan skin. “You need it.”

“Don’t wanna,” she yawned. “Fine, maybe just a little nap.”

He never knew his heart could feel this full, so close to bursting with happiness and awe. It was a miracle. Was this perhaps his reward for having survived Kinloch? Sending up a fast prayer to the Maker just in case it was, his gaze lovingly caressed the two sleeping forms in front of him. And he knew in that moment, that there was nothing he would not do to keep them safe and happy. As best as he could manage it, neither would want for anything the rest of their days. Except…

They couldn’t marry. Not unless he left the Order, but what kind of life would they have like that? He would die without a steady supply of lyrium, and then they would be left alone in this world. No, at least this way, he could ensure their material needs were taken care of. On his salary as Knight-Captain, they would be comfortable. He would just have to remain content with these stolen moments.

Tracing the velvet softness of his cheek, Cullen nuzzled the downy fuzz that crowned his son’s little head, breathing in the sweet scent of baby and milk. Peace. That’s what this was. For the first time in years, the demons were held at bay. No screams echoed in the back of his mind, and the coppery, acrid tang of blood was the farthest thing from his thoughts. Just… silence.

“I love you,” he informed Lochlan, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “And I will always be there. For both of you. I promise.”

***

The days passed in a haze of milk, diapers, and precious stolen hours of sleep. Babies were far more exhausting than she had realized, but it was worth every second, to see her little baby boy grow. Orana was always willing to lend a hand, and Sandal was perfect for keeping Lochlan entertained with an endless stream of funny faces and animal noises those times she just needed a few minutes to herself.

Cullen visited every fortnight like clockwork, often bearing little gifts he had spotted on the walk over from the Gallows- a shiny new rattle, a warm blanket, a toy sword, a stuffed bunny. It wasn’t perfect, this life they had, but she loved every second of it. The limited time she and her lover had together meant neither of them took a single second for granted. Regardless of the exhaustion that was constantly on her tail and the lonely nights when he was away, this was the happiest she could ever recall being since arriving in Thedas, maybe even before that. Had she been content with her life before this? Not that it mattered. There was no way she ever wanted to go back, not if Cullen and Lochlan couldn't be with her. This was her life now.

And so the months passed, winter fading into spring, into summer and back again. With her babe wrapped high and secure on her back, Aislinn resumed her work in Anders’ clinic, despite Cullen’s protests. It was even less safe now, he objected, as the heavy hand of the templars had come down hard upon their mage charges. A fact she knew too well by the frightened mages she saw every day coming through Darktown, frantically fleeing the madness that was the Circle. Distressed over the ever expanding number of Tranquil he saw every week when he visited the Gallows, Anders grew more and more agitated, letting the spirit within take control with increasing frequency.

“This will not be tolerated for much longer,” Justice seethed, the able patients of the clinic taking whatever refuge they could find from the glowing mage. “The templars shall have their reckoning!”

“Justice, give Anders back,” Aislinn sighed. She had seen the spirit far too much in recent weeks and it no longer frightened her as it once did. Perhaps she should be scared, but she was too tired to care. “This rib punctured a lung; I need him to help keep this man sedated while I heal it.”

Shuddering as he fought control, Anders blinked once, twice, the eerie blue fading back to the warm, rich brown that was his own. “Sorry,” he muttered. “He’s been a little out of hand these days.”

Shrugging, she bent over the now unconscious patient, channeling her mana through her hands into the broken body. “He has reason to be.”

“And what does your templar do?” he sneered. “Nothing! Andraste’s tits, Linn, does he not see? How can you stand to let him touch you?”

“Anders,” she warned. “Too far.”

Snapping his mouth shut, the mage stalked to the other side of the room, jaw twitching in frustration. In truth, she didn’t know what Cullen thought. He was always so reluctant to talk of Circle matter when he was with her, claiming he didn’t want to ruin their time together with talk of work. But she saw. The dark circles under his eyes were growing in intensity, his cheeks becoming more gaunt and hollow. Stress from the demands Meredith was putting on him. She was sure he was actively protesting the inhumane judgements that had been growing in number- mages made Tranquil for the slightest offense, or made Tranquil to keep them quiet. Surely, he would not condone such things? Her kind, chivalrous, honorable knight?

Of course he is, she chided herself. You know him better than he knows himself. He would never do such a thing.

Still, she asked him the next time he came by, a full month from his last visit.

“I’m sorry I missed the last day off,” he wearily dropped his bag on her bedroom floor. “My workload seems to increase by the minute. Where is Lochlan?” Giggling, a tiny head poked up from the other side of the bed. “Hey there, pup,” he called. “Come to Papa.”

With unsteady feet, the one year old slowly made his way over to his father, using the bed to hold himself upright before letting go of his support, toddling the last few steps on his own before collapsing into strong arms. 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen gasped. “He just walked! Linn, did you see that?! He walked to me!”

“So he did,” she grinned. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had been doing that for weeks now.

“Such a smart boy,” he cooed, swooping the baby up to his chest. “You’re getting so much bigger every time I see you. I bet you’ll be talking in no time, hmm?” Lochlan burbled in reply. “Yes, just like that,” he chuckled. “How have things been, love?”

“Same,” she shrugged, biting her lower lip. “Busier, actually. Cullen… what’s been going on at the Gallows?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather not discuss it. Gives me a headache every time I do.”

Unable to let it go, Aislinn slumped against the windowsill. “It’s just… I’ve heard some disturbing things from a few other escaped mages. Abuse of the Tranquility Rite. You don’t have anything to do with that, do you?”

It was impossible to meet her pleading gaze. Nor could he lie to her. “There have been… situations.” She stiffened. “I myself have not wielded the brand,” he rushed to assure her, before adding to her utter horror, “In some time. Accusations of blood magic fly around daily, and of rape, and of everything other thing under the sun. Meredith gives only 24 hours for investigations now, and if no proof of innocence is found, the Rite is served. She won’t listen to me anymore. In fact, I’m in danger of losing my commission for questioning too much,” he groaned.

“In danger of losing your commission,” she repeated softly, calmly. He knew that tone. It never boded well for him. “In danger of losing your commission, so you remain silent? While others are in danger of losing their lives?” Her voice rose to a dangerous pitch.

“Tranquility is not execution. The mages remain alive, and are well cared for.”

“Cullen,” she gaped. Who was this man before her? Was it the same man who helped her escape the Gallows? The one who gave her a dagger so she could choose death over the Rite? Who swore to her that he would not allow them to make her Tranquil? “You don’t believe that. I told you before, I’d rather be dead than Tranquil. You don’t think those other mages wish for the same?”

“Please, let’s not argue,” he begged, falling onto his knees before her, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying his head on her soft stomach. “Please. I can’t bear it. I’m trying my best, love. I swear to you.”

Her resolve crumbled in the face of his vulnerability. Running her hands through his curly locks, Aislinn sent up a quick prayer to whatever gods were still there. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to start a fight. There’s just so much pain out there, and I can only heal visible wounds,” she sniffed. Hands tugged at her skirts, reaching up for her. “Bedtime for you, Lochlan.”

“Let me,” cradling his son, Cullen hummed a soft lullaby as he helped change him into his sleeping robes and a fresh nappy before passing him back to Aislinn to nurse. He loved to watch her feed their child; the perfect picture of motherhood, her face serene and enraptured at the sight of dark eyes staring back up at her. “The city is getting more dangerous, especially for apostates. I wish you would reconsider working at the clinic.”

“They need me more now than ever,” she glanced up apologetically. “I can’t turn my back on them.”

Damn her heart. And his, for allowing her to continue. Although, was there anything he really could do to stop her? The bed dipped under his weight as he settled back against the pillows to wait on her, allowing the homely scents of the Hawke estate to seep through to his mind, so unlike the tang of metal and lyrium from the Circle. Home. That’s what this place was. Not _his_ home per say, but a home. Feeling her crawl into bed beside him, he sighed contentedly as a warm arm snaked around his belly.

“I’ve missed you,” rolling over, he pinned her underneath his bulk, letting her feel the length of his erection rubbing against her core. Her lips twitched up in a sultry smile, begging to be tasted.

“Then show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It makes me feel gross thinking of Cullen serving the Rite of Tranquility, but given his position and blind devotion during Kirkwall, it makes sense. But still. Gag.


	9. Demons and Destruction

He didn’t come the next month. Or the next. It was almost four months before he visited again. Hawke brought her his letters, as he was often in and out of the Gallows these days, and they were always the same.

_I’m so sorry, but there is too much to do here._

_I tried to stop by last week, but some last minute items came up._

_Meredith won’t let any of the templars go on leave._

_I miss you._

_I promise I will be there next week._

She missed him, yes, but underneath the longing ache, she was _pissed_. There were still templars visiting the Blooming Rose and Hanged Man, Varric told her when she asked. So why could they leave for a night of fun but the Knight-Captain could not? Surely, he outranked simple recruits.

Cullen could tell immediately that he was the source of her ire when he stepped into her room the day he finally arrived. Pursing her lips, she glanced up from where she sat in an overstuffed armchair, knitting a lightweight blanket for the coming summer. “Oh. It’s you.”

Cringing, he slowly sunk to the floor beside her feet. “I deserve that,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry, Aislinn. I’ve tried to get out here, so many times, but-”

“You have too much work to do,” she finished flatly. “I’ve read the letters.” Shaking her head, she motioned to the crib in the corner of the room with a needle. “You can wake him up. He sleeps any longer today, he’ll never go to bed tonight.” 

Practically leaping to his feet, Cullen rushed over to the small bed. “Maker,” he croaked. “He’s gotten so big.” Her heart dropped at the melancholy in his voice. He really did want to be there with them, she could tell by the heartache in his voice and the way his shoulders slumped at the sight of his son, four months gone. She wasn’t the only one suffering. “Lochlan, sweetheart. It’s Daddy.” Dark eyes slowly blinked open, focusing on the tall man looming over his crib. Stiffening, she made to stand up, knowing what was going to happen seconds before he opened his mouth and released an ear piercing wail. “No, it’s okay! Lochlan-”

Thrashing out of his father’s grip, Lochlan reached for his mother in terror, hiccuping a sad little, “Mama! Mama!” Grabbing the flailing toddler before he could injure himself, she tucked him against her chest, watching Cullen’s face fall as their son buried his face into her shirt, unwilling to even look at his father.

“I…”

“He just woke up, and he wasn’t expecting you,” she tried to soothe them both. “It’s just been awhile. He’ll come around again.”

His son didn’t even recognize him. Deep down, he knew he should have been expecting it; after all, memory spans at that age were notoriously short. Still, it hurt, far worse than he could have anticipated. Like a jagged knife in his heart, twisting to dig as deep as possible.

“Lochlan,” she murmured. “This is your Dada. Do you want to say hi?” He shook his head. “Can you say Dada for me?”

Curiously glancing back at the tall man who was still in his room, the boy frowned slightly and pointed. “Da?”

“That’s right,” Cullen’s voice broke. “Dada.”

“Dada.” Tears flowed freely down his face now. Such a small, innocent word, yet it had the power to bring him to his knees, literally. Watching the tall man kneel on the ground, Lochlan squirmed to be put down and toddled over. “Dada!” And he clapped for himself, Cullen laughing as he clapped along with him.

“Such a smart boy, aren’t you? Taking after your Mama?”

“Mama!” Pointing off to the side, a squeal escaped his lips. “Ba!”

“Ba?” Cullen turned around. “Ball?” Reaching out to grab a colorful blue and yellow ball, he held it out to the toddler. “Is this what you want?” More clapping and squealing. Aislinn smiled as she watched her two boys take turns rolling the toy between them for hours, Cullen never tiring of hearing his son prattle on in his own little language, showing him the various toys collected around the room.

“The situation at the Gallows is becoming more tense by the day,” he leaned his head on her knee, gazing up at her with those soulful, deep amber eyes. “Ser Thrask was killed by the very mages he was trying to help recently.”

“Hawke told me about that,” she murmured. How she had cried when she found out; the man who saved her from such a terrible fate. “They kidnapped Fenris. Ser Thrask was one of the good ones.”

“He was.” It seemed as if he had aged years since she last saw him. Several new wrinkles lined his face, crinkling under her gentle caress but still did nothing to detract from how handsome he was to her. The city was reaching a tipping point, that much she knew was certain. And Anders…

He had been conspicuously absent much of the last few weeks, an anomaly for the healer that had been so devoted to those in his care. And when he was around, there was a high chance that Justice would pop in to say hi and rant a bit more. Not that she blamed either, but Anders was losing control to the spirit within. And everyone knew it. It was only a matter of time.

But she didn’t want to think of such things anymore tonight. Not when he was finally here with her. “Come on. Let’s go get some supper. And if you’re good, maybe dessert later,” she winked down at him. 

Grabbing her wrist as she stood up, he swung her around until every inch of her was pressed against him. A wolfish, relieved grin spread across his features as his lips fastened onto hers, devouring her like the man starved for affection that he was. “That sounds perfect, sweetling. Come on Lochlan, are you hungry?”

"Dada!"

Tickling the boy as he scooped him up into his arms, Cullen laughed, warm and rich. "That I am, pup."

***

Five more months. Five more fucking months of empty platitudes and promises and excuses until he finally sent word he was coming the next night. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or be relieved when she read his letter. So she threw it into the fire instead.

“Cullen?”

“How much do you want to bet he’s not actually coming tomorrow night?”

“I’m not taking that bet,” Varric grimly shook his head. “Where’s the tot?”

“Unca Varri!” Lochlan came sprinting out of the kitchen, covered from head to toe in flour.

“What in Andraste’s name,” the dwarf laughed. “You’re supposed to mix the flour, not bathe in it.”

“Fun!” he squealed as Hawke sheepishly exited the kitchen behind him, also sporting an impressive white coating.

“We kind of got carried away making cookies. Orana was trying to teach us.”

“Emphasis on trying, I’m sure,” Aislinn snorted. “So-”

Whatever she had been going to say was lost amidst an urgent banging against the front door, the shout of a runner calling for entry. Flinging the door open, Varric leapt out of the way as a servant in the livery of the Gallows rushed in. “Urgent letter for the Champion, messere. From the First Enchanter.”

Taking the scroll, Hawke quickly scanned the contents. “Fucking hell,” he groaned. “Orsino says Meredith is out of control and he needs me there at once. It’s always something. Come on, dwarf. Let’s go round up Isabela and Fenris.”

“Hawke?” Aislinn turned to face him. “If you see Cullen, punch him for me. And make sure he stays safe, please.”

Chuckling, he leaned over to ruffle Lochlan’s dark brown curls, an identical replica of his father’s. “Will do.”

*** 

When the Chantry exploded later that night, she thought it was the end of the world. The whole house had shook, pictures rattling on the walls. Bodahn shouted, Sandal just stood around looking confused, Lochlan wailed, and Hawke’s dog just growled at nothing. As the rumbling ceased, Bodahn raced upstairs to the balcony to see if he could see any damage, urging Aislinn to stay in the house until he could determine it was safe.

“Maker,” his eyes were glassed over as he slowly descended back down into the living room. “The Chantry, it’s… _gone_.”

“The Chantry?” Handing Lochlan to a still shaking Orana, Aislinn sprinted up to take a look for herself. And gasped. High up on the hill, the Chantry was always visible from up here, an imposing construct of stone, towering over the city. Except tonight. Only a smoking heap of rubble and dust gave any indication a building had ever stood in that spot. Hawke was out there somewhere, as was Varric and the others. And Cullen. No, they were all safe in the Gallows, right? Glancing towards the island where the Circle sat, she saw nothing but darkness.

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait on Messere Hawke to get back and fill us in,” the dwarf sighed. “I do hope they’re alright.”

Aislinn couldn’t respond; her throat was choked with a sense of dread that settled deep in her bones, refusing to let her relax even for a second as the hours dragged on into the night. She could see it from the windows- Kirkwall _burned_. Watching from the balcony, she could see the fires spreading throughout Lowtown, creeping closer to Hightown, hear the screams of the innocents who were fleeing from something-

“Demons,” her stomach dropped in shock. Abominations roamed the streets that she could see, shrieking their inhuman cries as they slashed through everything in their path. Flinging herself back inside, she paused only to step into Hawke’s room to grab one of the extra staves he kept in there. “Orana,” she snapped. “Take Lochlan and go into the cellar. Bodahn, you and Sandal, too. Do not come out until I or Hakwe come to get you.”

“What if you don’t come back?” the elven serving girl asked quietly.

“Then your Maker preserve us all.” The door slammed shut behind her, muffling the wails of her son as she stepped out into the cobbled courtyard, surveying the scene in front of her. Several corpses. Three demons. One a rage demon, two others she couldn’t quite remember at the moment. And just one mage, a healer. What could she do? _I have to do something. At least try. To keep Lochlan safe._ Lightning. After the school of creation, it had been her strongest elemental affinity. Calling down a bolt from the sky, reveling in the feel of pure _power_ coursing through her veins, the demon across the courtyard howled in fury as it struck its mark, streaking through its grotesque body. Shit. Now all three demons were focused on her.

Her teachers had always been assumed she would one day take the mantle of spirit healer, given her preference for the School of Creation and her skill in the field, but there was another specialization she could have easily followed. Force mage. The raw, primal power of gravity itself. She only knew the basics, but tonight, she drew on all the knowledge she had. Gripping her staff, she sent a wave of energy racing out to meet the stampeding abomination, throwing it high into the air before slamming it into a broken puddle against the stones. 

It was easy to lose track of time, here in her little corner of the world. At least her reserves were strong, bolstered by the months she spent working in the clinic, her aim relatively true. The buzzing of her mana became a steady roar in her ear, every hair on her body electrified and brimming with power. Protect Lochlan. Keep her baby boy safe. That was the only thing keeping her upright now as she swung the power of her magic around her body, chaining lightning and pummeling demons and flinging her mana in furious arcs.

How long had it been since she came out here? Wasn’t the smaller moon way over there earlier? The weary ache that was starting to creep into her overused muscles told her that all of her earlier adrenaline was fading fast. She just had to last a little longer, until help came. Surely, someone would come by soon? A guard? A templar, even. Another fiery monster rounded the corner. And instantly, she felt her mana slip from her fingers. She was out, with no lyrium potions to give her that extra boost she so desperately needed.

Gripping her staff resolutely, she martialed what little strength she had left. “Come at me bro,” she muttered under her breath with a bravado she did not feel. “Dare you.” Screaming at her, the rage demon lunged for her- and froze. Literally. Tiny shards of frozen demon exploded across the ichor soaked stones.

“Aislinn!” Strong hands covered in more of the same bloody mess gripped her sagging body as she finally let go of the staff, hearing it echo as it clattered to the ground. “Maker’s balls, how long have you been out here?”

“Dunno. Few minutes? Hours? Everyone’s in the cellar,” she mumbled. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Sweeping her up into his arms, Hawke stumbled slightly as he took a step towards the house, grunting against the pain in his thigh.

“Let me,” she heard Fenris’ deep voice and felt herself being shifted around. “You’ll be pleased to hear your boyfriend is alright,” he said in a conversational tone as he carried her inside. “And that the Knight-Commander is dead. I think, at least. I’m assuming a person can’t be turned into a statue and still be alive inside.”

“Wha...?” Nothing he was saying was making any sense.

“Let her rest, Fenris,” Hawke called back, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “It’ll be easier to explain in the morning.”

She barely noticed as she was carried into her room, or as the delicate touch of Orana wiping away the worst of the mess that coated her skin, helping her strip off the soiled clothes she wore before tucking into her bed. Vaguely aware of the mattress dipping at her side, she sighed in relief as she felt Lochlan latching onto one exposed breast, dried tears staining his face. Wrapping her arms around him, she realized nothing else mattered. Her son was safe. Everything else could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My creative font is running low these days, so I'm going to post my backlog every 2-3 days in hopes I'll get caught up and find my muse again before I run out of chapters to post.


	10. Stay

The streets were a bloody mess, literally. Remnants of what once were people and charred ashes were scattered through almost every corner of the city. As the general populace was now beyond terrified of anything magic related, Aislinn had turned to potions and tinctures to help her heal and took to the streets, abandoning the old Darktown clinic.

Sometimes this all seemed like a nightmare, some Fade dream she was trapped in. Then she would the devastation, cough from the lingering ashes, and see the templars. Stained and grimy like the rest of them, helping to clear out the debris, carrying the injured to the makeshift hospitals that had sprung up around Kirkwall. On their Knight-Captain’s orders. 

She had been so proud to hear that Cullen had sided with Hawke and the mages, refusing to bow to Meredith’s insanity. And sad. Because she knew that his newfound duties would make it even harder for him to take time to see his family. Still, he managed to find a moment to slip away shortly after everything happened, six months after she had last seen him, a few weeks after the city fell. 

Standing awkwardly in the foyer, he wasn’t sure if he should just go up to her room anymore. She was upset the last time it took him so long, and this time it had been even longer. Maker, did she even want to see him again? Glancing up to the top of the stairwell, he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her, stepping out onto the landing. Her midnight hair was piled elegantly on her head in a messy bun, exposing the gentle curve of her neck, the bodice of her shirt fitted around her waist, even slimmer than it had last been. Come to think of it, her face was a bit leaner as well. Was she taking care of herself? Eating enough? Sleeping enough?

“Bodahn,” she called out without looking up from the book she held open, “Have you seen the- Oh. Hello.”

“Hi,” he murmured. “I, uh, brought you and Lochlan a little something. For Satinalia,” he held out two small wrapped parcels.

“Oh, that is coming up soon, isn’t it?” Halting several steps away from him, she hugged herself tightly. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you.”

“It’s okay,” he blurted out. “I just… wanted to. How has everything been? Since, well, you know.”

“Since we last saw you? Or since the explosion?” She arched a dark eyebrow. “Pretty much the same on both accounts. Although I’m doing most of my healing on the streets these days with my alchemy skills. Not too many people are keen on apostates anymore. What happened to your lip?”

“That’s probably for the best,” he nodded. “Our numbers are severely diminished, but we have additional ranks en route from Starkhaven to help rebuild. Ah, the demons. One got a little too close to my face. Is Lochlan asleep?”

Frowning at him, she hesitated for a moment before calling out, “Lochlan, come out here please.”

A small human immediately came bolting through a side door, smudges of charcoal all over his hand and face. “Mama, look! Picture!”

Cullen felt the same pang of heartache and shame as last time flood his body. He had promised his son that he would be here, and instead, he was missing vital chunks of his young life. And Aislinn’s. With a heavy heart, he watched her kneel beside the lad, knowing that he would not remember his father yet again. “It’s a lovely picture, thank you baby,” she kissed his cheek. “I have someone for you.” Curious dark eyes met his own. Choking down his surprise, Cullen knelt as well. He looks exactly like Branson did at that age, and probably himself. Curly hair and all. “This is your Dada. Do you remember him?” Lochlan shook his head. “Well, he remembers you. And he misses you very much. Can you go give him a hug?”

Small slippered feet cautiously approached him. Extending his arms, Cullen held his breath as his son studied him for several seconds before shrugging exactly the same way he had seen Aislinn shrug a million times and crept into his embrace. “Hi,” he chirped.

“Hello,” Cullen rasped. “I have missed you, very much.” Lochlan seemed to consider this for a few moments.

“Play?”

Swallowing a noise that was somewhere between a desperate laugh and a sob, he nodded. “I would love to.” Eagerly grabbing ahold of two large fingers that barely fit in his little palm, Lochlan pulled his father into the other room where a play area had been set up for the lad.

“Can you stay long this time?” Aislinn followed them just to the doorway.

“I’m not needed back until the morning,” he replied, pinning her in place with a hopeful, dark gaze brimming with lust.

All at once, the loneliness of the last few months came crashing down on her in a tidal wave of desire. It was all she could do to not drag him upstairs at that very moment. “Perfect,” she croaked. “Um. I’m making supper right now. I’ll call you both when it’s done.” 

Leaving them alone, she wandered back into the kitchen, her mind now far away from the roast she was watching brown in the oven. She felt… she wasn’t sure anymore. Glad he was back, yes, but apprehensive. How long would it be before she saw him again? Twice. Twice she had seen him in a year. Was she just being selfish? After all, the man was now basically in charge of the entire city, responsible for all those poor souls floundering in the wake of the destruction left by Anders and the resulting chaos. But surely, if she was important to him, he would- No. She saw that look of agony and longing written plainly on his face when he laid eyes on his son. He regretted. It was not because he didn’t love them anymore. However, he was a man of duty and bound by honor. He wouldn’t put himself first, not when so many depended on him. It was, annoyingly enough, part of his charm.

Back in the other room, Cullen tried to keep his complete focus on his son, but his mind kept drifting to her. He knew she was struggling with his sudden reappearance by her uncharacteristic silence and reserved politeness. Aislinn had always been on the quiet side, but around him? She always had a sharp witty, sometimes crude retort on the end of her tongue, as her favorite pastime had been to tease him mercilessly. Tonight, there was no hint of the playful woman she had been. She was… a mother, he realized, through and through. The woman she had been was practically gone. Her entire world now revolved around their son, caring for his needs, teaching him, keeping him entertained. And she was doing it all alone. No longer was there any room in her life for frivolous things.

With these melancholy thoughts churning in his head, he felt his son’s rejection of him even more keenly as Lochlan wailed for his mama to be the one to put him to bed after supper was over. Who was he now, but an outsider? An absentee father? Before, he saw families like this. The mother, always alone with their children while the father was off working, or carousing, or even abandoning them alone altogether. He never understood it- how a man could just leave his own family like that. His own father had been such a constant presence in his life that he always expected he would be the same, if he was ever granted a family of his own. There had to be time for him to make this right. Or would his son grow up without him?

“Once the templars from Starkhaven arrive,” he said softly as she shut the door to the small closet that now served as the nursery, “I should be able to delegate my duties and have more free time.”

“That’s nice.”

Her flat tone made him wince. She didn’t believe him. Then again, why should she? He had said much of the same before.

“Linn-”

“Cullen,” turning to face him, she sighed. Sadly, he noticed how tired she looked, weary and drawn and resigned. “I know. You’re overworked, and you’re doing a lot for the city. I know you’d rather be here with us. And I understand why you don’t…” A single tear escaped her eyes, the sharp turn of her body a second too late for him to miss it. “Why you don’t come by often. But…” Helplessly, she trailed off, leaning against the windowframe for support. Cullen remembered a time when she would lean on him instead of a cold, unfeeling wall. But those days were long gone now.

“I would swear to you that I would do better, but I suppose you wouldn’t believe me anymore.” She shook her head. Running a hand through his curls, he sat heavily in a nearby chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. There had to be a way he could make this right. Show her he was earnest in his desire to be with them. “Do you still love me?” he asked softly.

“Cullen,” she spun to face him. “Of course I do, you stupid man. I’ll love you for the rest of my life, no matter what. But this is hard. Every time Lochlan finally stops asking me when you’ll come back, every time I finally give up hope that you ever will, that’s when you waltz back in.” And every time, she grew a little more numb inside, desensitized to the pain of his absence. It was a slow, painful death, to always be on edge and hopeful of his arrival and to wake up each day, disappointed yet again. She wanted more. And so did he.

His own cheeks grew hot and wet as he stood, tears glimmering in the moonlight. “Can we fix this?”

Her lips barely moved as she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Crossing the room in two large steps, he crushed her to his chest, gasping through his quiet sobs. “Please, I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you. Maker take me, Aislinn, I will find a way to come more often, I promise you, I promise.”

“I want to believe you, I really do,” she murmured into his chest. “It’s just more of the same though.”

“I’ll prove it to you. Two weeks from now, I’ll be here,” he said firmly. There would be no way in the Void he would be kept away from her. “Please, let me show you.” Fitting her curves snugly against his chest, he trailed a line of kisses down her throat, sweeping across her collarbone, plundering her sweet, warm mouth. Aisline groaned as she tilted her head back to give him further access.

Hands fumbled at each other’s laces and clothes, bits of fabric lying where they fell as he led her to the bed, refusing to keep his lips off of hers. This was his home. With her. His salvation, his redemption, it was her and her love for him. Despite everything, she still wanted him. Craved him, judging by the needy way she drew him inside of her, clutching him tight as her body welcomed his. A soft thumb gently brushed a tear off his cheek. Staring deeply into her eyes, as if he could make her understand the intensity of his sorrow from a gaze alone, he moved within her, drawing out their pleasure until they were both suffocating under the weight of regret and hope and love.

“Cullen,” she breathed, raking her nails down his back.

“I’m here, my love,” he nuzzled her velvety cheek.

“Stay with me,” she murmured. “Leave the templars, and let’s run away from here. We could be a family. Together.”

Oh, how he wanted to say yes. Desire raced through him, not for her, although that was present, but for the picture she painted with her words. Her, dressed in a simple homespun dress, a stained apron around her waist and a fresh baby on her hip. A field of golden wheat waving behind a small cottage. Laughing while he taught his son to spar, letting Lochlan tackle him to the ground in victory. They could do it. Run away. But… “I want to.”

“But you can’t.”

Lyrium. Without it, he would die. Be reduced to a beggar, a mindless addict in the throes of withdrawal. She knew that. But there were ways around it. The dwarven Carta specialized in smuggling lyrium. To leave the Templar Order though… This is what he had sworn himself to, a lifetime in service to the Maker to help keep the peace. Could he truly leave it? Realizing his hips had stilled, Cullen pressed deeper into her, unable to help the smirk that cross his face at the way her eyes fluttered shut.

“I love you,” he said instead.

“I know,” she replied simply. Suddenly desperate to feel her orgasm, he yanked up on her hips, driving down at a different angle, thrusting with long, punishing strokes in a futile effort to make her understand. The way she stared up at him, her full lips slightly parted and panting, her fingers digging into his firm bicep, her body rising to meet his in a perfect synchronized dance- he wanted nothing more than to stay with her, so he could see her like this every night for the rest of his life. Wake up every morning with her in his arms. See his son grow into the fine man he would become, and proudly say that he had a hand in it. But this- This was all they had. She had to understand.

“Come for me, sweetling,” he begged, reaching for the pearl that would send her flying. With a well remembered flick of his fingers, he was just able to hold himself back for a few, precious seconds to watch in awe as her release consumed her, her low moan and the way her walls spasmed around him sending him tumbling into the abyss with her.

Dripping sweat all over her limp, drained body, he carefully cradled her to his slippery chest. “I want to leave here with you. I would give anything to. But I can’t, I can’t, please Aislinn,” he begged into her hair, breathing in her familiar, comforting scent.

“I know,” combing through his damp curls, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. “I understand, Cullen.” Perhaps if she told herself that enough, she would eventually believe it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was blasting Stay by Sam Smith while writing this. Pretty much their theme song at this point.


	11. All Good Things Must End

She was pleasantly surprised when he did show up two weeks after his last visit as promised, and met him at the door with jubilant kisses. “You came,” she beamed up at him.

“I did promise,” he cupped her cheek for a moment before tugging his plate off and setting it to the side. “And there’s my boy.” Glancing behind her, he dropped to the ground as Lochlan came sprinting over amidst shouts of joy.

“Dada!” he giggled as Cullen tossed him up into the air.

“Hello, pup,” he snuggled the lad close. “Happy Satinalia.”

“Present?” Lochlan asked hopefully. Retrieving the gifts he had left last time, Aislinn handed him both boxes, keeping a third wrapped gift tucked under her arm.

“Lochlan, go get the present you made for Daddy.” Quickly, he toddled off to a small table perfect for his height in the corner, retrieving a colorful drawing and waving it around victoriously overhead.

“For me?” Cullen asked. “It’s… um. Lovely.” Glancing at Aislinn helplessly, he couldn’t resist a small smile as she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“Dada, Mama, Lochy,” he said proudly, pointing at the different blobs on the paper.

“A family portrait,” the Knight-Captain realized, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, son. I will treasure this always. Here, this is yours.” Eagerly, the boy tore into the pretty wrapping paper, gasping in delight as he withdrew two painted carved wooden dragons.

“Mama, look!” Squirming down from his father’s lap, Lochland rushed over to his mother to show her his new treasures.

“I see,” she ruffled his dark hair. “Why don’t you introduce them to your other toys?” As he scampered off, Aislinn shyly handed Cullen the long package next to her.

“For me?” Maker, when was the last time he received a gift? Before he became a templar, probably. “Thank you,” he grinned up at her, tearing into the paper with the same gusto as their almost 2 year old son. Opening the smooth wooden box, he stared in wonderment at the treasure within. It was an intricately carved chess set, the features distinct upon each piece as opposed to his simple, crude set he kept in his chambers. Reverently, he traced the flowing robes and rubbed his finger over the wooden horse’s flank. And there, on the queen, a smiley face carefully carved in the blank space where a face should be. Raising his eyebrow, he glanced up at her grin and nonchalant shrug.

“It needed some improvement.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever received a gift so fine, present vandalism notwithstanding,” he informed her.

“It’s not vandalism, it’s art,” she protested.

“I’m sure,” he laughed, tossing a small box into her lap. “Here, open yours.” Aislinn carefully peeled back the paper in direct opposition to her boys, neatly folding the scraps and easing the lid open. Curiously withdrawing a velvet bag, she tugged open the drawstring to reveal a silvery, circular cloak brooch, reflecting the light of the fire no matter which way she turned it. The metalwork was exquisite, delicate layers twisted and carved into a beautiful relief of a cluster of bell-like flowers in the center. “Those are crystal grace flowers,” he smiled shyly. “They’re said to tinkle like bells in the wind, but also are valued for their practical value. It reminded me of you.”

“I tinkle in the wind?” she asked bemusedly.

“Your, ah, laugh reminds me of bells,” he shrugged, ducking his head to hide his blush. “Most flowers are pretty, but useless. These are extraordinarily beautiful, extremely rare, and yet practical. Much like yourself.”

“Cullen,” laying the brooch in her lap, she was struck speechless. Never before had anyone put so much thought into a gift for her. “It’s perfect. Thank you,” she leaned over to press a kiss to his lips, tracing a finger over the newly healed scar that made his smirk even more devastating. Pulling her into his lap, he grinned up at her.

“I’m pleased you like it. Unfortunately, I can’t stay long today. I have a meeting with a few of the nobility,” he made a moue of disgust at that word, “And apparently I can’t be late.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “I’m glad you were able to come, even just for a little bit,” snuggling closer into his chest, he savored the feeling of her warmth.

“I’ll be back soon enough, hopefully stay the night again.”

“Good,” she purred in his ear. “I want to thank you properly for my gift.”

“Maker’s breath.” Groaning, he shifted underneath her, trying to relieve the sudden need he felt between his legs. “Minx,” he growled.

“You can punish me next time,” she winked, sliding to the floor. “Lochlan, your daddy has to go now.”

“Why?” he pouted.

“I have to go back to work, pup,” Cullen replied softly. Who knew that with one look, he could be slain?

“Stay?”

“Next time,” he promised. “I’ll stay longer next time.” Satisfied with this, Lochlan threw his little arms around his neck and squeezed as hard as he could.

“Love you. Bye bye, Dada.”

“I love you, too son. So very, very much.” Patting his stubbled cheek, the boy raced off again to resume his play, unaware that his father was breaking inside. “He said- _Maker_ ,” lowering his head to Aislinn’s shoulder, he trembled under the weight of his emotions. “I will do better. I promise you. Both of you.”

“I know you will, Cullen.” Scrubbing at his wet face with his sleeve, he sniffed once more before reaching for his armor by the door.

“I love you. See you soon, sweetling.”

“Be careful out there,” she called to his retreating back, smiling as he turned just before stepping out into the main thoroughfare to blow her a kiss. Oh, how she loved that man.

***

“It’s too risky to stay any longer.” Leaning against the mantle, Aislinn watched as Varric glowered at Hawke’s words whilst pacing the length of the room, grumbling under his breath.

“Aveline said you would be fine. None of them would dare touch the Champion of Kirkwall.” Shaking his head at his best friend’s optimism, Hawke snorted from where he sat in an cushioned armchair.

“She doesn’t know that for sure. And I’m hearing rumors,” he sighed. “Accusing me of blood magic. All those Starkhaven templars weren’t here during the Qunari invasion, they don’t know the extent of what happened. And with no Viscount or Grand Cleric or Knight-Commander to back me up…”

“Doesn’t Cullen’s word count for anything?” Aislinn frowned.

“It does, to an extent,” Hawke shrugged. “But he’s still only Knight-Captain. The new templars report to him, but I don’t know if they’re beholden to him or not. And frankly, I don’t want to risk it.”

“So you’re leaving,” Varric frowned.

“Just for a little while, until things calm down. Isabela’s going to take me and Fenris out to sea for a bit. Want to come, Var?” Hawke grinned.

“My feet are perfectly happy on solid ground, thank you very much,” he grumbled. “Just make sure you check in from time to time.”

“Of course! I can’t go too long without my favorite dwarf. You could come too, Linn,” he added. “Too many people know you from the clinic. If word got back to the templars, now that everyone’s scared of magic…”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t go down into Darktown anymore these days anyways,” she shrugged. “And I don’t use magic to heal topside either.”

“Still. Well. I guess a ship’s no place for a kid, huh,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Just be careful. Your templar would be distraught if anything happened to you. Probably run me through even though I won’t be here. Have you heard from him lately?”

Her face gave away the answer before she spoke. “No.” Two months since Satinalia. Since he had gotten her hopes up yet _again_.

“He’ll be back, Linn,” Hawke assured her gently. Honestly, it wasn’t a question of if he would come back. She knew he would always return at some point. But when? Another month? Another six? How many times this year would she see him? It was only three visits last year. Perhaps only two now? One?

Instead of giving voice to her endless frustration, she merely gave him a thin lipped smile. “I know. What should I do if the looters come here?” It was becoming a serious problem. In the wake of the fall of the Gallows, with no leadership set up for the city and the guard severely reduced, bandits and thieves prowled the night, breaking into warehouse after shop, hovel after manse. No place was safe anymore.

“You get out,” Varric piped up. “And come find me. Or Aveline.”

“Yeah,” Hakwe nodded. “Don’t try to fight them off, keep the wards active. If you hear them outside, just grab Bodahn and Sandal and Orana and hightail it out of here to safety. Nothing in here really worth losing your life over. Well,” he hefted his bag onto his back, “Everything else is already set. Isabela’s waiting for us at the Hanged Man. I’ll write when I can.”

“Alright,” pulling the mage into a tight hug, Aislinn begged him to stay safe. “And take care of yourself. I’ll be very pissed if anything happens to you.”

“Yes, Mother,” he grinned. “Loch, come give me a hug bye.” Swinging up the two year old in his arms, he squeezed his little body tight, tickling him until he flopped around like a deranged mackerel in danger of falling to the ground. “Be good for your Mama, okay?”

“Okay!”

“See you kids later!” With a final wave, Garrett Hawke left home.

“He’ll be fine, Var,” Aislinn draped an arm around the dwarf’s shoulders, trying to offer him some modicum of comfort.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “i know he will be, Storm. Just gonna be different without him here, that’s all. Maybe I’ll come by here more often. You guys will probably get pretty lonely up here.” 

“We’ll never say no to your company,” she grinned at his nickname for her. Storm was perfect, he had told her, given her affinity for lightning. Plus, he had shrugged, storm were cathartic for some people. Healing their souls. Like her.

“Pssh. Who would?”

“Crazy people, that’s for sure.”

***

Five months passed before he came again. The all too familiar feeling of crushing disappointment came seeping back into her heart as the days passed, one by one, with no word from him. Meanwhile, she stopped sleeping, almost completely, as she was always on edge as the thieving throughout Hightown got worse and the criminals became more bold in their actions. The wards she placed around the estate only served to ease her mind by the slightest fraction.

It was a warm spring day when he finally showed back up on her doorstep, the promise of summer drifting through the light breeze as if to welcome him. Bracing himself against the indifferent storm he knew was coming, Cullen knocked.

“Knight-Captain! Always good to see you, ser.”

“Bodahn,” he nodded in return. “Is Aislinn home?”

“She is. I’ll just go fetch her.” Placing his gauntlets and his helm on the sofa, he glanced up just in time to see her slowly walk into the room, a blank expression on her lovely face.

“Linn,” he wanted to run to her, fall at her feet and beg for her forgiveness. But did she even want to hear it anymore? “I, um, can’t stay long. I have a group of templars I’m leading into the Planasene Forest. There’s a cabal of blood mages hiding out there, and we’ve been tasked with going after them. I… don’t know how long it will take. No more than a month, hopefully, but it may be longer.

“Mm. Why are you telling me this? Another month or two wouldn’t have made much of a difference.” Flinching away from her icy tone, Cullen forced himself to take a step closer to her.

“Linn, I-”

“Cullen,” she stopped him in his tracks. Shaking her head slowly, as if a great weight had settled on her shoulders, she leaned against the doorframe, her tired gaze watching him fidget in place. “The looters are getting worse.”

“I know,” he groaned. “We’re trying to coordinate with the guard to stop them, but there are just so many.”

“The house next door got hit yesterday. I’m worried we may be next.”

“No,” he replied emphatically. “They would not dare attack the Champion’s own home.” Of that he was certain.

“It’s common knowledge that the Champion has left Kirkwall,” she pointed out. “Cullen. There’s got to be some other place we can go that’s safe. I’m scared out of my mind. Didn’t you say you had family in Ferelden? Couldn’t we go there until the city stabilizes?” Aislinn was pleading with him, hands clasped under her chin entreatingly. He could see the fear in her dark eyes, ringed by dark, sunken circles. But… To send them all the way across the Waking Sea. It might be years before he saw them again. And he did not know how Mia would react to taking an apostate into her home. Or even what his sister would say at the knowledge that he had a son.

“You’ll be fine here,” he promised. “When I come back, I’ll send more of my men to the guard to help Aveline put down the looters once and for all.”

“It may be too late by then,” muttering darkly, she turned away from him.

“Don’t talk like that,” he approached her with hesitant steps, breathing in relief as she took his outstretched hand. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see. Is Lochlan up?”

“I just put him down for a nap.”

Leaning over to kiss her cheek, he gently cupped the back of her head, stroking her loose waves. “I’ll just take a peek then. Be right back down.”

Aislinn stared glumly into the hearth as he quickly ascended the stairs. Why wouldn’t the man listen to her for once? She saw the thieves closing in. There wasn’t an exact pattern to their madness, but close enough to one that she suspected they would attempt the Hawke estate any night now. The formidable apostate was gone from Kirkwall, leaving only a single mother with a toddler, two dwarves not combat trained, and a former elven slave. Hardly a sufficient deterrent for seasoned criminals.

“He’s still sound asleep,” Cullen informed her as he re-entered the living room. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the empty promise, she merely nodded. “I love you. It’ll be fine, Linn. If something does happen, Varric or Aveline will help you, I’m sure, until I return.” She wanted to scream, stomp her foot in frustration, and shake some sense into her lover. But she did not have the energy, or the heart left to care.

Sighing as she leaned in to kiss his cheek, she murmured, “Be safe, Cullen. I love you, too.”

With a last, long, lingering look, Cullen stepped back into the street. Closing the door behind him, Aislinn sagged against the wood, slowly lowering herself to the ground. It was only a matter of time now.

***

A loud crash and sound of wood splintering woke her up a few nights later. Throwing on the nearest clothes she could find, Aislinn snatched up the staff that she kept propped up against the headboard these days, before dashing out of her room to the top of the stairwell. Why didn’t any of her runes activate?!

Because she didn’t bother to reset them at the front door after Cullen left. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks as she stared down into the leering faces of eight burly men in ill-fitting scraps of armor.

“Oh ho, we’ve got a pretty one here, boys,” the ugliest one grinned wide enough to show a mouth almost devoid of teeth.

Proud of how calm and steady her voice and hands were, Aislinn leveled her staff at the brigands below. “Leave. This is your only warning.”

Incredulous guffaws met her ultimatum, with only one man speaking against the others. “She’s got a staff. Could be a mage.”

“Nah, she wouldn’t dare,” another cackled. “Not while we’ve got the elf.”

The elf? Coming from the kitchen, Aislinn heard a loud bang, followed by a soft whimper. Another bandit shouted from within, “Got ‘er!” as he dragged an unconscious Orana out behind him.

“No!” Bodahn shouted as he made to storm into the room. “Let her go!” Aislinn quickly threw a barrier over the door to prevent his entry. One hostage was all she could deal with right now.

“We’ll let her go after we have some fun with you, girlie,” the first man stalked up to the bottom of the stairs. “Now be good and come down here and give us what we   
want, then nobody gets hurt.”

Without thinking, Aislinn threw a paralysis glyph over where Orana and her captor stood, preventing him from harming her further. Channeling the rest of her mana as her blood hammered thickly through her head, a telekinetic burst that plowed through the center of the bunched group erupted, slamming the men into the walls hard enough to hear bones and plaster crack from the impact.

“Bitch,” one of them snarled, staggering to his feet. “You’ll pay for that. Let’s get out of here, lads. I’m sure the templars will be veeery interested to hear about such a violent apostate living in Hightown. With a kid, no less.”

Spinning wildly around, Aislinn’s heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of Lochlan sleepily peeking out of their room, peering down at the intruders. “Mama?”

“Get back in the room,” she hissed. “Go!” Eyes flying open, the toddler quickly sprinted back inside, but the damage had been done.

“After the templars take you, we’ll take the boy,” one of them jeered. “He’d make a fine member of our gang, wouldn’t you think?”

“I will kill you first,” she growled, winding her lightning around her hands. She needed to kill them. All of them. Else all was lost. Throwing the arc into the nearest man, she watched in horror as five of looters convulsed within a cage of electricity, twitching as they fell to the ground. Dead. What have I done?

“Let’s get out of here!” Flinging themselves back out of the shattered front door, the remaining three men quickly disappeared into the night, leaving only the bodies of their comrades and a stricken Aislinn behind.

The templars were coming for her.

She had just murdered five men.

And Cullen was gone from the city still.

There was no time to fall apart. She had to get out of here. But where could she go? Varric was out of town on business and wouldn’t return until the end of the week. Merrill had disappeared from the city some time ago. Fenris, Isabela, and Anders were all gone. Aveline stayed in the barracks and could not shelter an apostate and her son. Even fleeing to Lowtown or Darktown was out the question, as more than likely the brigands frequented those areas and would recognize her. Her features were just unique enough to make hers a memorable face.

“Orana! Are you okay!” Clattering down the stairs, Aislinn dropped to the woman’s side, scanning her body for any injuries and healing the bruises she found along the way.

“Just my head, mistress,” she whimpered. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Mistress?” Bodahn tentatively peeked his head into the room. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I locked you out like that.”

“Probably saved my fool life, you did,” he smiled sheepishly at her. “I heard them talking about the templars. What will you do?”

Leave Kirkwall. It was their only option. Cullen… Grabbing a piece of parchment, she furiously scribbled out a short message, throwing an excessive amount of sand on the wet ink to quickly dry it. “Bodahn,” she gasped. “I can’t stay in Kirkwall. There’s nowhere safe for us to flee. Will you take this to Varric when he gets back? It’s for Cullen.”

“Of course, my lady,” he sighed wistfully. “I could just take it to the Gallows?”

“No, he’s out of town on business and I don’t trust the other templars to not read it beforehand.”

“Alright. I don’t suppose it’s safe for us to be here either, if those criminals are coming back here,” frowning, he glanced down at the letter in his hand. “We’ll go take rooms at the tavern until Varric comes back, then figure something out. Orana, dear, you could come with us if you’d like.”

“I’d like that,” the young elven woman nodded.

“Where will you go?”

“We have enough gold to buy passage on a ship. There’s bound to be someone leaving port tonight. We’ll take it wherever it goes. Nevarra, Orlais, Antiva- it doesn’t matter, we just need to leave.”

“I’ll help you pack.”

“No, thank you Orana,” Aislinn smiled gently at the woman, still shivering from her ordeal. “You have your own things to gather.” Hurrying back up the stairs, she quickly scanned the room until she found her son, hiding under the bed. “Lochlan,” she called out softly, “You can come out now, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Mama,” his voice was a small whimper, his head hung in shame and apology as he crawled up to her.

“Oh, I’m not mad at you,” wrapping him up in a tight hug, she couldn’t help the tears that leaked down her face. “I was just so, so scared. I’m sorry I yelled at you. But we have to go now, okay? How would you like to take a ride on one of the big ships in the ocean? Have an adventure?”

Brightening at the thought of the pretty ships with their billowing sails, he nodded eagerly. “Ship!”

“Go pick out a few toys you want to bring.” As he rummaged through his chest, Aislinn scurried around the room, stuffing clothes and other supplies into a large leather satchel. Reaching into the bottom of her trunk, she pulled out a disturbingly light canvas bag that clinked as it shifted. Cullen usually sent them a decent sum of money every month or so, and it was coming up on the time when a new stipend would arrive. Except they would not be here to accept it this time. Frowning, she counted out the contents. _This should be just enough to get us passage, with a bit left to help us settle wherever we end up. I hope._ Belatedly, she realized how woefully unprepared she was to tackle a grand trip such as this, having spent all her time in Thedas either in the Circle or being under Hawke’s wing. She had no idea how much things cost, the basic necessities- food, shelter. At least she had her skill with the potions. Perhaps she could find a job as a healer wherever they settled?

“This, Mama,” dumping a small armful of assorted stuffed animals and carved figurines, including his most recent acquisitions from his father on the ground, Aislinn carefully nestled them into their clothes.

“There, all safe and sound.” Throwing a thick woolen cloak over his shoulders, Aislinn picked up the brooch that Cullen had gifted her. Really, the only thing she had of him. _I’m so sorry, Cullen. I hope you get the letter soon_. Pinning it onto her own cloak, she threw their bag over one shoulder and securely tied her son to her back, knowing he would not walk the long distance to the docks on her own. With a last, longing glance at the little room where Lochlan had been born, she firmly shut the door behind them and trudged down the stairs.

“You should take your staff,” Bodahn wrung his hands nervously.

“It would mark me as surely as if I were casting,” she sighed ruefully. “I’ll be fine without it, don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure… Maker be with you, mistress,” he tenderly cupped her hand within his. “We’ll get your letter to Messere Varric, have no fear.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal waved.

“Be careful, please, mistress,” Orana begged tearfully. “The streets are so dangerous this late at night.”

“You be careful, too. Watch over these two.” Taking the woman into one last, affectionate hug, Lochlan throwing kisses to the rest, she slipped out the back door and stepped into the night.

The streets were blessedly quiet tonight, most of the residents hiding behind their locks and guards out of fear of the looting. Aislinn kept to the shadowed walls, walking as briskly as her burden allowed, pausing every now and then to check her direction by the position of the moons. Soon enough, the air filled with the scent of salt and fish, a cool breeze ruffling her hair. Smiling at the tiny snores she heard coming from her back, she picked her way down to the docks to where one of the ships was in the process of being loaded. The only ship that night, in fact. The rest of the vessels were as dark as the sea itself. This one was her only hope.

“Messere?” Hesitantly, she approached a man who was overseeing the crew as they carried a steady stream of crates up the gangplank. His clothes were simple, but of relatively fine cut, a wicked pair of daggers gleaming at his side. “Do you know where I could find the captain of this ship?”

“I’m the captain, lass,” the older man turned to her, answering the question in a deep brogue.

“I need passage out of the city,” she replied quietly. “For my son and I. I can pay.”

Stroking his graying beard, he eyed her and Lochlan, still contentedly sleeping on her back. “Running away?”

“Personal troubles.”

“No other baggage?”

“Just what I carry.”

His hazel eyes were sharp as he appraised her and the meager belongings strapped to her body. “I’m not really a passenger ship, but I do have a little storage room I could clear out for you. For fifty sovereigns.”

Blanching at the exorbitant cost, she stared at the captain. _Fifty sovereigns! That’s almost everything I have. But… what choice do I have? I can’t stay here._ “Fine.” Counting out the appropriate sum, she dropped the coins into his outstretched palm, waiting impatiently as he inspected the gold pieces.

“Lovely,” he grinned, showing off the two gold teeth set in his mouth. “Fritz, go tell the men to empty out the closet on the second level. Welcome aboard the Dragon’s Howl, lass.”

Nodding at the man, she began to head toward the dock, before turning back for one final question. “By the way, Captain. Where is this ship bound?”

“Denerim. Capital of Ferelden. That alright with you?”

“Good as place as any.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving y'all with this cliffhanger ;). Family coming into town for the weekend, so next update will be either Sunday or Monday.


	12. A Chance Meeting

The two weeks it took to reach port were the longest two weeks of her life. Between the constant roll of the waves making her nauseous and trying to keep a two year old occupied, out of the sailors’ way, and away from the slatted railings, she was ready to swim to shore. When the shout of “Land ahoy!” finally cut through the chilly, crisp spring air, Aislinn wanted to weep with relief.

She was more than a little appreciative of the fact that the captain kept his men away from her for the duration of the trip, which she mentioned to him as she prepared to disembark. “I have a girl of my own,” he shrugged. “Wouldn’t want her to be accosted like that. Especially not in front of your boy.”

"Thank you, really," she smiled fondly up at him and bid the older man farewell, reaching back to readjust her bag and son. “Ready, Loch?”

“Ready!”

The difference between Kirkwall and Denerim was night and day. The town here, although not as well planned and paved as her previous home, seemed so much lighter and brighter. Laughter mingled along with the shouts and cries of the dockhands, only growing louder and most busy the further into town she went. It was about the same size as Kirkwall had been, but the buildings here were relatively new, albeit simple. Making her way into the market square, Aislinn glanced around, taking in the ring of shops and stands and restaurants. _Well, now what?_

A familiar phrase caught her attention. “Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.” _A Chantry. Maybe they can help me._

“Excuse me, Sister?” Aislinn put on her best innocent, friendly smile as she approached the middle aged brunette in the cream and burgundy robes. “I’m in need of some direction. My son and I just arrived in Denerim, and I was wondering if you knew of a place where I could find work.”

“And what sort of work is it that you do, my dear,” the Sister asked, not unkindly.

“I have some skill as a healer. Potions, mostly, simple cures. Not much else, although I’m willing to learn whatever I need to,” Aislinn admitted.

“Mama fix things,” Lochlan proudly announced from atop her back.

“What a charming boy,” she smiled sweetly at the lad. “I’m afraid I’m not sure where you can find work. The clinic in downtown is well stocked with apprentices. Perhaps the alienage? I’ve heard rumors that their last healer died recently, and not many others are willing to go work in such a place.”

“Because they’re elves,” Aislinn muttered quietly.

“Yes. Even though we all are the Maker’s children,” the Sister sighed wearily. “It would not bring you any extravagant pay, but I should think you would be able to sustain yourself and your son. Talk to their Hahren, a woman named Shianni, if you’re interested, child.”

“Thank you, Sister,” inclining her head, she headed in the direction she was pointed in, on the other side of the square, squeezing her way through the throng. She had heard tales of the alienage in Kirkwall from a few of the other mages in the Circle, how happy they were to be taken away when their magic manifested, for to them, the Circle meant a warm bed and fresh food every day. Freedom was a small price to give up just for the guarantee of not going hungry to a small child. So, she was expecting a district that was rather dismal. What she wasn’t expecting was just how bad it actually was.

The construction looked fairly recent, but the materials used were all patched together in the most haphazard way, using whatever bits and scraps could be salvaged. Driftwood, torn planks, and bent nails consisted of the majority of houses, rags used in place of window panes or curtains. The elves themselves were gaunt, with a haggard appearance about them but for the most part, at least they looked healthy. Ish.

“Mama, look, tree!” Aislinn glanced up at a massive tree in the center of the square, strings of colorful paper wound around the leaves. It was an odd thing to have, it’s brightness and greenery in stark contrast to the brown world around it.

“I see. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“What do you want, shem?” At the harsh voice, Aislinn turned around only to face a petite elven woman with hair the color of fire.

“I’m looking for a woman called Shianni,” she replied calmly.

“You found her. What do you want?” Crossing her arms, the one they called Hahren glowered at the lady and her child.  
“I was told that you might have need of a healer. I’m new to Denerim, and was looking for a place to settle down and work, me and my son,” offering her a hopeful, friendly smile, Aislinn waited as Shianni appraised her with a piercing gaze.

“Trying to make your riches scamming the helpless elves?”

“G-Maker, no!” she shook her head vehemently. “I have some skill with alchemy and herbal remedies. Tell me what is a fair price to charge, and I’ll stick to that. You have my word.”

“Words don’t mean shit to me,” Shianni snorted. “Actions do.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” she sighed.

“But you’re right. We do need a healer. There’s one other who knows a bit of potion making, but he’s often too drunk to do anything useful,” the redhead groaned. “So how about a trial run? There’s an empty apartment over there on ground level with two rooms, landlord’ll give you a fair rate. Could use the first room for the clinic, second for you and your son.”

“That sounds perfect.” Could this really be happening? Did she really cross an ocean by herself, find a job and a home in a new country with only the help of strangers? 

“Ma serannas, Hahren.”

Shianni whirled back to face her. “You know elvish?” she demanded, shock written across her angular face.

“My best friend was of the Dalish, but lived in the city with me.” Vera. Aislinn missed her terribly sometimes still. Cullen said that she had disappeared after the destruction of the Gallows, but her body was never found. She prayed that Vera had managed to escape. Perhaps she was even back with her clan by now.

“You’re an interesting one,” tapping a finger against her lips, the woman made her decision. “Call me Shianni. What did you say your name was?”

“Aislinn. And this is Lochlan. Say hi to the pretty lady, Lochlan.”

“Hi pretty lady!” her son chirped at the now grinning elf.

“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” she giggled. “This is it. Hey, Pallien! This woman’s wanting to rent that bottom apartment, set up a healing clinic. He’ll set you up with any furnishings you need, as well. You passed the grocer’s and general store on your way in. Anything else you need, let me know.”

“Thank you, Shianni. You don’t know how much this means to us.”

“Judging by that look in your eye, looking at me like I’m the All-Mother herself, I have some idea.” Shianni chuckled. “I’ll be back later to help you figure out prices, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please. I have no idea where to even begin,” she confessed, blushing slightly.

“Don’t you worry my lady, Shianni here will get you sorted right out,” the man named Pallien nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m not a lady, Just Aislinn, please.”

“Well, then, just Aislinn. Would you like to see your new home?”

***

The Sister had been right when she said Aislinn would not earn any extravagant pay here. Trying not to lose hope at her meager pile of silver, she locked the strongbox where all their coin was kept as the latest customer left. But putting aside the issue of the miniscule trickle of funds, the rest of their life here was not too bad. Most of the elves warmed up to her once they realized how kind and generous and fair she was, regardless of race or social status. Lochlan suddenly had a dozen new friends all around the same age as himself and was content to spend his days running wild with the other elven children through the square just outside of her clinic. And her skills had been greatly improving the more she used them along with the added boon of inheriting all of the previous healer's tomes.

True to her word, within the first week of settling in to their new lodgings, Aislinn penned a brief letter to Varric, telling him all about their nerve wracking journey to Denerim as well as their new living situation here in the alienage, her job, and the new friends she was making.

“ _All in all, our situation is not perfect, but it’s not horrible by any means either. I’m useful here, which is more than I can say for those last months I spent locked inside in Hawke’s place. I don’t think I’ll stay here forever, though. The city is very busy and while it’s not as dangerous as Kirkwall, there’s still more crime here than I’m comfortable with. I’m hoping to save up enough and move into the country, find a small village that needs a healer and settle down there. It would be nice, to raise Lochlan in the clean, open air. Maybe get a dog. They have these dogs here called mabari, and he’s obsessed with them. I hope you’re doing well and aren’t too lonely without us there to pester you. I don’t suppose Cullen has come by for my letter yet, has he? Tell him I’m here, and I’m safe, and that I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe. Please give him our love._

_To my favorite dwarf,_

_Aislinn and Lochlan_ ”

Hurriedly sealing the letter with a tiny bit of wax, she rushed out just in time to catch the messenger as he passed on his weekly route. “Another letter for you, if you don’t mind.”

In no time at all, it seemed, spring had faded into the summer, the golden days passing until the bite of autumn crept into the air. The pyres in preparation for All Soul’s Day were carefully being stacked in front of each chantry throughout the city, ready for the bonfires that would mark the holiday. Glancing up as her door swung open, letting a gust of cold air rush in, Aislinn tugged her coat around her slender body tighter.

“Why is it already freezing here,” she complained to the newcomer.

Chucking, the elven man pushed the hood of his light cloak back. “You’re such a Marcher, Aislinn. All that thin blood. This is still balmy weather.”

“Crazy Fereldans,” she muttered as she moved to the side cupboard. “Is your mother’s cough still ailing her?”

“Yes,” he shook his head. “The last one you gave her helped a bit, but she’s still spitting up blood.”

“I really wish you could convince her to come in,” she sighed. “Not much I can do without seeing her.”

“I’m sorry,” he shamefully lowered his head.

“Not your fault that she distrusts humans so much. It’s our fault. Here,” corking a series of small vials, she passed him the small bundle. “Try these. Two drops of the red potion under her tongue, every six hours, and a teaspoon of the pale yellow potion before bed at night. Try it for three days or so and let me know how it goes.”

“Thank you mistress,” the young man clutched the precious medicine to his chest. “How much do I owe you?”

“Not a damn thing,” she held up a hand to forestall his protests. “Call it a gift. There are some humans out there who aren’t assholes. Maybe it will convince her to come and see me, so I can treat her better.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Giggling to herself as he scampered back out into the cold, Aislinn stretched her weary muscles out until she felt her spine pop. Just outside, she watched as her son kicked a small ball around with three others, shrieking as they played their little game. Making a mental note to go buy some warmer clothes for both of them soon, she turned back to the elfroot she had been grinding only to hear a loud cry from outside.

“Make way for the king! Make way!”

Sprinting outside, Aislinn hauled her son up into her arms, dragging him out of the path of the royal entourage and his prancing stallion. “Who’s that, Mama?” Wriggling in her arms, he craned his little body trying to get a better look.

“The king. Now, hush,” she whispered. “Let’s go back inside.”

“But I wanna see!”

Resigning her fate to the frigid air, Aislinn lifted him onto her shoulders so he could have a better vantage of the monarch in his shiny armor. He was handsome, she noticed, bright copper hair and ruddy skin, with a few wrinkles around his eyes that told her he loved to smile, and often. Leaving his horse behind, the king dismounted and strode over to where Shianni greeted him with a stiff back.

“Your Majesty,” she gave him a curt bow. “A few of our men have gone to the palace recently to seek an audience with you about the schools you promised us, but have been turned away at the gates each time. What do you say to this?”

“Remember to whom you speak, elf,” one of the guards at his side hissed. 

“No, it’s okay,” the king sighed. “Honestly, I have no idea. I never gave any such order. Your men should be welcome to approach me, same as everyone else in the city. I’ll look into it, I promise. As for the schools,” a shameful expression flitted behind his piercing blue eyes. “That is my fault. I’ve gotten sidetracked with other projects. But I’m moving it up on my list. I’ll get on it as soon as I get back to the palace, you have my word.”

“Lying filthy shem scum!” Out of nowhere, an arrow whizzed through the air, nestling perfectly between the plates of his heavy armor and embedding itself deep into the king’s shoulder. Grunting, he stumbled backwards, holding his arm in shock.

“It’s an attack! Find the traitor!”

“Do not harm anyone!” The king roared after his scattering men. “That’s an order! If you find him, bring him to me alive, do you understand? Maker, why does this   
always happen to me?”

Shianni leaned over the king, examining the wound. “Come on, I’ll take you to our healer. She’ll be able to patch you up.”

“Lovely,” he groaned. Realizing they were coming towards her, Aislinn hauled Lochlan behind her, dragging him up from where she had practically tossed him down onto the ground after the arrow was released.

“Come on, I’ve got to get inside. I’ll need your help to tend to the king, okay? Go wash your hands first.” Stoking the small fire as they walked in, Aislinn pushed up her sleeves and scrubbed her own hands, wiping them off with a coarse towel just as Shianni pushed her door open.

“Aislinn? Are you in here?”

“I saw,” she called from where she was kneeling, rummaging through her supplies. “Your Majesty, if you wouldn’t mind sitting on that chair for me, I’ll be right with you.” The chair creaked ominously as he settled gingerly onto it, the heavy armor he wore adding a substantial amount of weight to his person. “Alright.” Straightening up, she glanced over at him. And tried not to stare. Gods, he was handsome, especially with how he was looking at her, grinning with a lopsided smile as she approached.

“Hello!” he said brightly, as if he did not have a projectile sticking out of his body and was not bleeding all over himself. “I’m Alistair. Er, King Alistair, I suppose.” 

“Aislinn, Your Majesty,” she curtseyed.

“You need any help?” Shianni asked, obviously eager to leave and make sure her people were not being mistreated by the guards.

“I’m fine. Go ahead. Well, it looks like the head went completely through. This is going to hurt a bit.”

“Here, Messere King,” Lochlan offered the man a grimy stuffed nug. “This is Butter. He helps me when I have an ouch.”

“Thank you,” Alistair took the toy with his good hand. “I’m sure he’ll be- _Maker’s hairy ba- beard_!” Stifling a giggle at his curse, Aislinn tossed the bloodied and broken arrow onto the floor and stuffed a clean towel into the crevice of his pauldrons against the wound.

“I’ll need to get this armor off of you so I can dress your injury properly,” she tapped on the gilded metal.

Grinning mischievously up at her, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, he asked, “So soon into our acquaintance? I’m blushing, my lady.” Aislinn merely rolled her eyes at him, her lips twitching into a tiny smile. “I might need some help,” he admitted sheepishly. His armor was similar enough to the plate Cullen wore, she realized as she reached for the buckles. Gently easing the heavy breastplate over his head and sliding his plain cotton shirt off, she frowned at the sight of his veins, bright red against his paling skin. “Uh oh. That’s not a good look.”

“Poison, I think.” Carefully picking up the arrow, she sniffed the flinted stone, wrinkling her nose at the stench. “Adder’s Kiss, if I’m not mistaken. Give me just a moment please.”

As she bustled off back to her supplies, Alistair glanced down at the little boy, who was currently crouched in front of his shiny armor, making silly faces at his   
reflection. “So, how did you pick the name Butter?” 

“I like butter,” he shrugged. “Do you like butter?”

“I do. I like cheese more though.”

“I like cheese, too!” Lochlan yelled excitedly.

Alistair grinned at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Your son has most excellent taste, mistress.”

Smiling fondly at the toddler, she began measuring a few ingredients into her mortar. “I hope he’s not bothering you, Your Majesty.”

“Oh no, he’s perfectly alright. So,” he cleared his throat nervously, “Is it just the two of you here?”

“It is.”

“No father?” he asked softly.

Her eyes grew distant as she poured a pale blue viscous liquid into her slurry. “It’s… complicated,” she muttered evasively. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Scooping up the unappealing paste in the bowl, Aislinn smeared the concoction over the wound. “I just need to let this sit for a few minutes. It should draw out the poison.”

“Should,” he raised his eyebrow. Blushing, she shrugged in an exact imitation of her son.

“I don’t have much practical experience with poison, I’m afraid. Mainly colds, broken bones, lung sickness, stomach ulcers and the like.” Leaning against a table, she studied the king as he turned his attention back to her son. He was not what she was expecting, for a king. From the snippets of gossip she picked up around town, she’d have thought him an imposing knight in shining armor or a bumbling idiot. In reality, he was neither. She supposed that the massive, golden armor did give the appearance of a larger than life hero, but sitting there, topless as he was, playing with the assortment of figurines her son had brought him, imposing really wasn’t the word that came to mind. Nor did she think him an idiot. There was a roguish air to the king, a boyish charm and she could see why the common people loved him so. He was warm and approachable, not at all like the other nobles she saw in the marketplace, strutting around all high and mighty with their noses in the air.

The wax candle on her table dripped another glob of wax onto the the tin holder. Peeking under the poultice, Aislinn breathed a sigh of relief. The angry, red lines had faded until they were almost invisible again, the skin around it regaining its healthy color. Gently, she scraped off the rest and washed the wound thoroughly before wrapping it securely in several layers of gauze.

“Impressive work,” he studied her handiwork. “You know, I could use you. At the palace. Our own healer is an ancient, crochety old man and it’s far past time for him to retire. If you’d be willing, of course.”

“Work at the palace?” She was unable to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. “I’m afraid I have no knowledge of court life, Your Majesty,” she replied carefully, trying to mask her confusion to little success. “I would make a fool of you. Not to mention the elves would have no healer if I left.”

“You couldn’t do worse than anything I did when they made me king,” he chuckled. Leaning forward eagerly, his bright eyes shining, he continued, “And if you’re worried about leaving the alienage, I can send someone else down here in your stead.”

“Why me?” Ignoring the urge to wince at her own bluntness, Aislinn barreled on, “You’re the king. You have access to the best healers in the country, probably throughout Thedas. I’m nowhere near the level of a master. I’ve never even been properly apprenticed anywhere. So why me?” Eyes widening, she took a step backwards. “Did you-”

“Maker, no!” His face flushed a deep crimson all the way down to his broad chest. “I swear I have no designs on your person. It’s…” Leaning back, Alistair considered her question carefully. Why did he want her? She was beautiful, yes. Stunning, even. And her son was adorable. Was it- “Your heart,” he replied simply. “I can tell that you’ve earned the trust of Shianni, which is a small miracle in itself. You have kind eyes, and I think a gentle, honest spirit. That’s the kind of person I want to entrust my health to. Not someone who’s in it for the money or prestige. Someone who heals because they like to help.”

That was enough to satisfy her curiosity. “Alright, Your Majesty. The day you send a replacement down here for me, I’ll go.” There was no way she’d take him at his word. Or anyone, really. Trust was a rare commodity these days for her.

“Excellent!” Leaping to his feet, Alistair beamed at her as he reached for your hand. “I promise, you won’t- You’re a _mage_ ,” he gasped. Aislinn yanked her hand back as if burned, her terror emblazoned across her face. Instinctively, she reached out for her son, grabbing his arm and shoving him behind her skirts.

“How did you know,” she whispered, tensing as her mana coiled around her fingers. There was no use in trying to hide it. Or trying to run. She could see the sun gleaming off the armor of his guard, just outside the front of her house, and there was no other way out.

“I trained as a templar in my youth, I still have some sensitivity to magic. I swear, I won’t hurt you,” he eyed her warily, feeling the way her magic shifted just below the surface. “I won’t call the templars on you. Promise.”

Slumping into a nearby chair, she gazed up at him, defeated and weary. “So now what?”

Alistair crouched at her feet. “My offer still stands,” he murmured. “You’d be safer in the palace, templars rarely come through there. As opposed to here, where they do regular sweeps.” She paled at that. How lucky they had been to avoid the inspections so far. “It doesn’t matter to me if you’re an apostate. I can guess why you are,” he nodded to her son, peeking at him from behind his mother. “So. Will you still come work for me?”

It was her best shot, wasn’t it? But could she trust this man, this king? Gazing into his eyes, she only saw earnest intent, pure and unwavering. “Yes. I will.”

“I’ll send someone straightaway then, Mistress Aislinn,” he bowed formally over her hand. “And I’ll see you later,” winking at Lochlan, he began redressing himself. It was slow going as he did not have full range of his injured arm yet, cursing under his breath as Aislinn slowly buckled the pieces snugly around him. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Lochlan leaped into her arms as soon as Alistair ducked out of her little hovel, chattering with excitement. “We going to palace, Mama? Live at palace?”

“Looks like it, little bit,” she ruffled his curly locks. “Would that make you happy?”

“Messere King is nice,” he nodded.

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

***

It was the greatest shock of her life when, the next morning, a kindly older elven woman ducked into her clinic and introduced herself as the healer that King Alistair had sent to take her place. Aislinn had been sure he would have rethought his plan about taking an apostate into his home, and forgotten about her.

“The king always keeps his word, my dear,” the woman assured her. Resisting the urge to snort in laughter, Aislinn instead began to pack, leaving all of her ingredients and flasks behind at the other healer’s insistence. “Everything you need is already there.”

In short order, all of their belongings were once again stuffed into the same leather bag they had arrived in, just a few, brief months earlier. As Lochlan talked the woman’s ear off, Aislinn picked up her quill and wrote a quick letter, just enough so that they wouldn't worry for now:

“ _Varric-_

_Got a job working at the palace, as a healer, believe it or not. So send any future correspondence there to me. Miss you-_

_-Aislinn_ ”

“Do you want me to carry you or do you want to walk, Lochlan?”

“I walk!”

“Alright. Thank you, for coming here,” Aislinn smiled at the other woman. “Ready to go, little bit?” Slinging her bag up, the pair stopped just outside, meeting Shianni as she strode up to meet them.

“Heard the news. So you’re leaving us?”

“The king asked,” Aislinn sighed. “I didn’t want to leave, but…”

“When the king calls, you can’t really say no, I know. I will miss you, falon,” Shianni pulled her into a hug. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” taking her son’s hand, the letter clutched in her other side, they slowly made their way through the city, taking in the crowds, the shiny wares laid out for display, and the heavenly smells from the vendors.

“Mama, please?” She glanced over to where Lochlan pointed, bouncing up and down at her side at the prospect of a fresh cinnamon bun. Normally, she would have said no, given how careful she had to be with their funds, but now…

“One bun, please.” Squealing in delight, Lochlan tore into the treat with the ferocity that only a toddler presented with sugar could muster while the adults looked on in bemusement. “Say thank you, Lochlan.”

“Ank oo,” he smiled around a sticky mouthful. Up ahead, she spied another mail carrier, strolling down the street with his laden bag.

“Excuse me!” Racing up to the messenger, she smiled sweetly at the man. “Would you mind taking another letter with you?”

“Don’t mind at all, ma’am,” he grinned at her. She was pretty, he thought to himself. _And with a kid, of course she does_ , grimacing at the sight of a little boy as he ran up with crumbs smeared all over his mouth, the man took the proffered letter. “I’ll get this to the head office right away, headed there now.”

“Thank you!” she waved at him as he took his leave. “Alright, to the palace.”

Stepping away from the pretty lady and her son, the messenger headed back down the road, intent upon making it to the office before noon to deposit the rest of his stack of letters for safekeeping.

“Hey, Turner! Long time no see!”

“Landon,” the messenger grinned in surprise. “What are you doing in Denerim?”

“Brother’s wedding, had to come up here. Say, you have time for a pint? Catch up a bit?”

He really should get back to drop off his satchel, but… It had been years since he had seen his old friend last. Surely a pint wouldn’t hurt. Placing the most recent letter at the top of the pile, he reached out to clasp Landon’s outstretched arm. “Sounds good. The Gnawed Noble isn’t too far from here.”

So focused was he by the prospected of a cool mug of frothy ale and good company, that he didn’t even feel the wind as it ruffled through his coat, or the letter as it brushed his arm, caught up in the swirling breeze only to drift down into the mud behind him, trampled by a passing horse.


	13. Realization

When she heard the word palace, she had not expected this. For some reason, palace conjured images of gleaming white marble, open, spacious rooms filled with tons of sunlight, stained glass windows and sheer, lacy curtains and tapestries. What the place actually resembled was a medieval fortress, thick granite walls and no natural light at all. It should have felt dark and oppressive. But instead, it was cozy. Homey, even.

The servants who were constantly running about were friendly and welcoming and seemed to actually enjoy their job. Most of the nobles were also at least polite to the new healer, knowing that their lives might one day be in her hands. Aislinn paid no attention to the ones who weren’t. Her workplace, at least, was sunny and bright, set into a higher tower that overlooked the city with a view of the ocean sparkling beyond the horizon. Several smooth wooden workbenches lined the room, each piled with a variety of fresh and dried herbs, tiny cauldrons, flasks and vials. It was her own personal heaven. Lochlan adored his new home as well, for here, there were dogs. A whole kennel, in fact. The kennel master welcomed the lad to stop by anytime, as the socialization was good for the puppies, he told her with a grin.

She didn’t see the king much those first few weeks, as nobles began to fill the castle in preparation for Satinalia and one by one, they all demanded a private audience with their liege. It wasn’t until about a week before the holiday that Alistair dragged himself into her clinic, his face drawn and his eyes dulled.

“Please tell me you have something that can make the druffalo in my head stop dancing,” he groaned as he pushed her door open.

“I believe I do,” she smiled at him. He looked much more human, she decided, in his regular garb than his armor. The crimson of his jacquard tunic went well with his complexion and the gold embroidery made his vivid eyes pop. _Why am I noticing that? I still love Cullen. Well, I am only human. And he is a handsome man. There’s no harm in looking. Ugh, Cullen. I’ve been gone for seven months and still no word. Probably doesn’t even know I’m gone yet. He’s such an ass._ “Here, drink this.”

Tossing the elfroot infusion back, Alistair licked his lips. “Why does your medicine all taste palatable? The last guy’s stuff was purposely vomit inducing.”

“A little bit of honey goes a long way,” she laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Smiling up at her, he winced as a particularly sharp stab of fire lanced behind his eyes.

“You have a lovely laugh,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she blushed, Alistair grinning at her embarrassment. “I can heal the worst of the pain, if you’d like.”

“I don’t mind.” Taking a place behind him, she heard him sigh in bliss as her cool fingers pressed into his skull, gently rubbing aching circles over his scalp as her magic pulsed through his body. It was like floating on a cloud of sunshine and and rainbows, he thought. “You are a blessing straight from the Maker, mistress.”

“Aislinn is fine,” she murmured as her hands drifted to his neck, pressing against the knotted muscles there. “Feel better?”

“I feel like a limp noodle,” leaning back his head, he smiled that lopsided grin of his, his eyes crinkling in warmth. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It is what you pay me to do after all,” her voice was light and teasing as she took the empty vial from his hand.

“I should give you a raise,” he groaned in relief. “Maybe your own bannorn. And if it’s just you and me, I insist you call me Alistair.”

“If you wish.” Resting his chin on his hand, he watched her as she moved around the room, checking on the potions that were brewing or distilling, her nose scrunched up in the most adorable way that made him want to-

What, exactly? He didn’t even know if she was married. What was it that she said, that the situation with the boy’s father was… complicated? That could have a dozen meanings. Maybe he was employed elsewhere. Maybe they were having a marital spat. Maybe he was a complete arse who didn’t deserve a goddess such as she.

“Was there anything else you needed, Yo- Alistair?” He decided he liked the way she said his name.

“Just curious. How a woman as beautiful as you isn’t married. Or at least surrounded with a dozen suitors.” Was that smooth? Maker, he hoped so. Flirting wasn’t one of his strong suits. Usually the women just sort of came to him. “I know you said the situation with your son’s father was complicated, but… Is there… anyone?” _Please say no please say no._

Aislinn went perfectly still as her gaze drifted towards the window. “There was- is, someone. Lochlan’s father. But honestly, I don’t even know if he’s noticed we’ve left.”

“Where did you come from?” he asked softly.

“Kirkwall. He was very devoted to his job, so he came by as often as he could, but sometimes it was only a couple times a year,” the obvious pain in her voice made him wish he could take back his questions. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about this.

“Kirkwall, hmm? I went there once. Such a dreary place.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” her smile was faint, barely touching the corners of her mouth.

“Obviously not, if someone like you could have come from the rabble,” taking her hand, he placed a featherlight kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll take my leave of you now. Thank you, again.”

She watched in go in a haze of confusion. There was no doubt in her mind she still loved Cullen, with her whole heart and soul. The way he laughed, the way he smirked, the way his whiskey eyes held hers like he was mesmerized by the sight of her. If she concentrated enough, she could still smell the soap he used, crisp and warm sandalwood, and feel his firm arms wrapped around her. Gods, how much she missed him. What she wouldn’t give for just one letter from him, just to gaze at his neat handwriting. 

What if he had decided since she was gone, they were no longer his problem? What if he saw them as mere distractions to his duty to the Order? What if he didn’t care that they had left?

No, no. She wouldn’t believe that. Couldn’t. He loved her and Lochlan, she saw it in his eyes every time he visited. _You’ve been through this a thousand times. Why do you keep doubting him? Why is it so hard to stay focused?_

Why couldn’t he put them first?

Why was his job always more important than them?

Why did she have to beg just to have a few minutes of his time, a couple of days each year?

Why weren’t they more important?

Why did Alistair have to be so sweet, his eyes so understanding, his smile so disarming? Her hand burned where he had kissed it. Holding her palm up, she could still make out the faint imprint of his lips on her skin. Perhaps…

Never before had Cullen gone over six months without seeing her. If a year passed and there was still no word from him, she would assume that he no longer wanted her. What else could she do?

God. What would she tell Lochlan?

***

She was going to kill him this time, he was certain. It had been over a year since he had seen her last, another Satinalia come and gone. Should he even go by? Maybe he should go back and ask Varric to run interference for him, test her mood.

No. This was his fault, and he needed to own it. Steeling himself for what promised to be his iciest reception yet, Cullen stepped into the paved courtyard and headed to the corner where the Hawke mansion was, frowning as he approached. There was something off about the place. In the window- boards. Across the door- a sturdy lock that had not been there last time. His heart beat a frantic, staccato pace against his ribcage.

Sprinting up to the door, Cullen pounded at the solid wood for what seemed like hours. No one came. Not Bodahn, not Orana, not Aislinn. Where was everyone? Where was his lover? His son?

“Are you looking for the residents of that house?” A passing noblewoman watched him curiously.

“I am, my lady. Please, do you know where they are?” Holding his breath, he visibly deflated as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t. The manse was attacked by looters almost a year ago, last spring. Since that night, I haven’t seen anyone in the house. A dwarf came by a short time later to replace the door and board up the windows, but that was it.”

A year ago. Looters. Aislinn. And she had tried to warn him… Maker, he was the world’s biggest fool. He hadn’t listened to her when she warned him about Ser Grant, and she was almost raped at his hands. Then, he had brushed off her concerns about looters, and now she was gone. For over a year. Where could she be? When would he learn? Had his own blind pride cost him the only two people he truly loved? “Thank you,” he whispered to the lady as she walked away. A dwarf, she had said. Would Varric know? Of course he would know, Varric always knew.

By the time he reached the Hanged Man, Cullen was drenched in sweat despite the frosty air. Running in full plate armor for several miles was not for the faint of heart. Taking almost no time to collect himself, he pushed his way into the bustling tavern, scanning the crowd for the familiar man as he gasped lungfuls of air into his starved lungs. No sign of him. With a hand, Cullen waved the barkeep over.

“Excuse me, is Messere Varric around?”

“Nah,” the man was oblivious to the templar’s shaking hands and ashen face, “Left town on business the other day. Probably be back in a month or so, he said. Need a message?”

“Yes, please. Will you tell him that the Knight-Captain needs to see him as soon as he returns?”

“Sure thing.”

Numbly, Cullen stumbled back into the darkening streets, the setting sun casting long shadows over this sector of Lowtown. Leaning against a wall, he slowly slid to the   
ground as his gaze fixed on absolutely nothing. Where else could they be? Hiding here in Lowtown? Darktown? The idea of her and Lochlan in that rat infested hellhole filled him with abject dread. They were his family. He was supposed to take care of them. He promised to keep her safe. If she was safe now, it was no thanks to him. What was he supposed to do now?

Throw himself into his work, apparently. He became not unlike a machine, running drills from dawn until well after the sun set in the sky, his only focus on his work. His work. That’s what cost him his son, and the love of his life. If he had not been gone, if he had not been a templar. If he had listened to her when she begged him to go. Was this worth it? His _duty_? To an Order that had forgotten its path, its purpose? It seemed like a joke now.

Bowing to the nobleman who had just pledged his own funds in the reconstruction effort, Cullen quickly descended the stairs of the Viscount’s Keep as Aveline promised to keep in touch with him over the status of the declining crime throughout the city. At least Kirkwall was on the mend now. Thanks to his painstaking efforts, the destruction of the past year had finally been wiped away except for in the poorest sectors, and gang activity was falling rapidly. _I hope it was worth it, Rutherford_ , he thought sourly to himself.

“Curly! Heard you were looking for me.” It was all Cullen could do to not tackle the dwarf to the ground. Crossing the marble floor with wide, bracing steps, he stopped just short of Varric, beckoning for him to follow him into a side room. Closing the door behind them, Varric shook his head in disappointment. “Took you long enough.”

“You know where they are?” he demanded. The anticipation was too much. If the dwarf so much as hinted at a tease…

Instead, he offered the Knight-Captain two letters. “First one is the from the night she left last year. The other, three weeks later from the end of Cloudreach. She’s in Denerim, in the alienage. Or she was.”

“Was?” She was in Ferelden. His homeland. Why had he never told her where his siblings lived? She could have gone there, where she had asked him to take her. Then she would be safe, not in a Maker-forsaken alienage. And he would know where they were. Instead...

“Letter says she was saving up to move to the country. Haven’t heard from her since, and all my letters I’ve written since then haven’t been returned. So I’m guessing she moved,” he shrugged. Moved. Or lost. Dead. Lying in some barren field, their son- No. She was a smart woman, strong and resourceful. There was no way he would believe she was anything except healthy and thriving in some small hamlet. It was easy to picture it, her in a simple homespun dress, her hair piled into a loose messy bun while Lochlan chased a chicken or two. Maybe they had a mabari. His son would be three by now. And he-

“I’m such a failure,” he muttered.

“You were busy. Storm understood that. I mean, yeah she hated it, but she understood,” Varric attempted to console him. But there were no words, no acts of platitudes that could have brought him back from the edge of the abyss. It was his fault. He had cost them everything.

“She asked me to run away with her. Take her away from here, just a few weeks before the looting. And I said no,” his laugh was bitter with a slight hysterical note. “I said no, the only thing she ever asked of me and I said no. What a fucking pathetic excuse for a man I am.”

“Hey now,” Varric grabbed his arm, ignoring Cullen’s attempts to brush him off. “She’d deck you if she heard you talking like that. She loved you, Cullen. I’d wager everything I own that she still does.”

“You don’t understand,” he shouted. People were probably stopped outside their small room and were eavesdropping, but he no longer cared. Nothing mattered anymore. “I promised to keep her safe! I told her the looters would never come, I _swore_ to her. And I failed. And now she’s gone, and probably in danger, and I failed. I failed at the only thing that mattered to me. The only thing that ever made sense to me was her love. And she’s-” Hot tears dripped down onto his gauntlets. “I should go to Denerim. I’m sure if I tried, I could find her.”

Rubbing his face wearily, Varric exhaled, long and heavy. “She could literally be anywhere in the country, Curly. I’ll keep trying to find her. I have a few contacts in the city, maybe one of them saw her leave. She has a rather striking face, someone’s bound to remember it. Don’t give up hope yet.”

Hope, he wanted to scream. She had hope in him. That he would be there like he said he would, over and over. Except he never was. Where had her hope gotten her? Fleeing in the middle of night with their son. Taking the first ship she found all the way across the Waking Sea. Settling into a new and foreign place. An apostate, on the run with a small child. And it was all his fault.

_I’m so sorry, Linn. Please be okay. Please. Dear Maker, I swear, I will do anything you ask of me, just please, keep her and Lochlan safe._

“Knight-Captain? There’s a Seeker here to see you, ser.” Leaning against the wall, Cullen glanced back into the keep, at the stern woman standing at the top of the stairs, hands clasped behind her back as she waited patiently with a slight scowl on her face as she watched Varric slip out the front door. He scrubbed at his face. Of all the worst, possible times-

“Thank you. I’ll go see her now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, poor Cullen.


	14. A Picnic

This was the sixth time in the past ten days she had been called to his chambers. One night it was for a training injury. The next time, for stomach pains. The next, insomnia. Then a headache. Then a muscle spasm. She wondered what it would be tonight. As the servant announced her presence, Aislinn stepped into the dimly lit room, scanning the large chamber for the king.

“Hello,” he popped his head out of his bedroom, his hair dark and wet and spiky from a bath. “I’ll be right out.”

She waited patiently by the door as he fumbled around for clothes, hopping as he pulled on pair of plain, loose trousers. “I wasn’t told what was ailing you tonight, so I brought a random selection of potions.”

“Ah, about that,” scratching the back of his head, Alistair grinned down at her sheepishly. “I may have…” his voice dropped as his words ran together in an incoherent mumble.

“Pardon? I didn’t catch any of that.”

Staring at the floor, he poked at a tassel of the rug with one bare toe. “I kinda sorta have been making up excuses so you would come see me. Are you mad at me?”

Aislinn stared at him, her head tilted to one side as she considered his words. “You’ve been… So the insomnia?”

“I mean, I do have nightmares, but I’ve learned to manage them.”

“The muscle spasm?”

“Wasn’t that bad.”

A smile drifted across her lips unbidden. “You just wanted to see me?” Lifting his head up a slight fraction, the tension melted from his shoulders as he saw her smirk.

“I did. I’m always so busy during the day, and so are you, and…” he trailed off helplessly, shrugging. “I enjoy your company. You’re not pretentious like the nobles I’m forced to pander to all day, and you’re not afraid of my title. I feel like you see Alistair, not the king.”

It was true, she realized. Of course she knew that he was the ruler of an entire country, a fact that was hammered home on the rare occasions that she was around to see him sitting in his throne, his golden crown shining imperiously from atop his copper hair, but more often than not, she saw him like this. Dressed casually, relaxed. Ducking into her clinic just to say hi, or to offer her a new book he thought she might like. Spending his spare time playing with the dogs and Lochlan. Training with his men. And during these times, it was impossible to see him as anything but Alistair.

“Alistair is pretty hard to disregard, as shiny as the king is,” she teased. “I much prefer Alistair to the king, anyhow.”

Perking up at that, he took another step closer. “You do? Really?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” she laughed.

“I am, though,” he gazed down at her. “No one really actually chose to be around me until I became king, and now they only do it to gain my favor. I always felt like… I was tolerated, at best.”

“You are one of the kindest people I know,” she replied firmly. “And sweet. Sometimes even funny. You’re a good man, Alistair. Anyone who doesn’t see that is a fool.”

Shyly, he held out a hand, staring down in awe as she placed her fingers against his palm. “You know, it’s going to be beautiful tomorrow. What say you we take a little trip to the countryside? Grab a few horses, a picnic. Lochlan would probably enjoy it.”

“Horses? I’ve never ridden before,” she warily looked up at him.

“I’ll find you the most docile mare, have no fear. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “So, yes?”

She found she was completely unable to resist his child-like enthusiasm. And it had been over a year since she left Kirkwall, and there still was no letter, no word at all from her templar. _No, not my templar any longer it seems._ Perhaps it was time to move on. “I’d love to, Alistair. Who am I to refuse the king, anyways?”

His delight was almost palpable as he grinned down rapturously at her. Lifting her hand, he flipped her palm over and kissed her, just over the flickering pulse in her wrist. “I knew that taking the throne had to have some benefits,” he quipped. “Tomorrow. Shortly after the eighth bell? I’ll meet you down in the stables, just bring yourself and Lochlan. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she murmured as the butterflies in her stomach began to flutter wildly. “Good night, Alistair.”

“Sweet dreams, Aislinn.”

*** 

Lochlan bounced in circles around her as they walked through the courtyard towards the stables. “Can I ride my own horse?”

“I certainly hope not. You’re far too young to be riding alone.”

“Where are we going?”

“He said to the countryside.”

“Can I bring a puppy?”

“No, they have to stay with their mother.”

“Will I see a bear?”

“I don’t think so?’

“I can be the bear!” Shaking her head as her child ran ahead, roaring and swiping his hands through the air, Aislinn stepped inside of the dusty stables. Alistair poked his head over one of the walls, waving her over.

“Just getting this girl saddled, and we can be on our way. I, uh, like doing this part myself,” he added at her surprised glance. “I grew up tending the horses in Redcliffe. It’s soothing to me. Alright, this is Sunspot. Do you know how to mount?”

“I’ve seen people do it. I just put one foot there and throw myself up, right?” Letting the mare sniff her hand, she walked alongside the horse as Alistair led her to a mounting block.

“This will be easier. Hold on here, and pull yourself up.” Aislinn was glad she had opted for a pair of leather leggings and a loose blouse today instead of a skirt, as she had no riding gear and the idea of riding side saddle was immensely unappealing. Throwing one leg over the horse, she settled herself against the supple leather.

“Oh, dear, sweet Maker,” she heard him mutter from behind her. 

“What’s wrong?”

Blushing a bright red, he quickly glanced away from her back and shook his head violently. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Um. Lochlan. Right. Child. Hey kiddo, how’d you like to ride with me?”

“Can I?” he jumped up and down in glee. “Is the doggy coming, too?” Glancing down at the mabari waiting patiently by his side, Alistair shrugged.

“Sure, looks like she’s coming. Here we go!” It was easy to toss the three year old up into his saddle and slide himself behind. “Now hold on tight to this bit here, okay? Ready, Aislinn?”

“I think so,” she gulped. Why was she so far up from the ground again? _At least Lochlan is thrilled with his current situation._

“We’ll take it slow,” he assured her.

The path they took led out of the back of the palace grounds, meandering through the woods. There was a tiny creek that ran along the road, happily burbling away as the water tumbled over rocks in its path. Ferelden was beautiful, she mused. Much more enticing than the little she had seen of the Free Marches. Here, the air was sweet and fresh, the breeze cool and refreshing, the landscape bright and airy. With a wistful smile on her face, she watched as Alistair patiently answered all of her son’s million questions, the man seeming to find joy in the boy’s curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

He had always been an inquisitive child, but since arriving at the palace, Lochlan had positively thrived with Alistair’s continuous presence in his young life. The joie de vivre she caught glimpses of the rare days that when Cullen was around, that was what he had now, every single day. He needed a father, she realized sadly. Someone to be a constant in his life. 

Something Cullen had never been, not after that first year of his life that their son didn’t even remember.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Glancing over at his tender smile, she motioned towards her son, who was currently singing to dog trotting at their side. “Just thinking how happy he’s been since we’ve moved here. It’s nice.”

“And what about you? Are you happy here?” Alistair held his breath as she turned her face away.

“I am.”

It felt wrong, to be happy for some reason. But that was silly, wasn’t it? She wasn’t bound to Cullen in any way besides through their son. And he had made no attempt to contact them for a year, regardless of if he had gotten the letter or not. Then again, Varric hadn’t written her either. Was that odd? Nothing in her letter really had required a response, so maybe not. And he was awfully busy managing his and Hawke’s businesses. Perhaps she should write him again, just to be sure. But if Cullen didn’t want to hear from her, would he welcome her correspondence? She didn’t want to be a bother either.

Suddenly, the sun shone brightly down upon them as the forest opened up to a rolling meadow, dotted here and there with great oaks that cast it shadow over the sweet grasses. Directing the horses towards the one closest to the creek, he swung off his mount with the grace borne of years of practice. “Here we are,” lifting Lochlan to the ground, he gave him the blanket and picnic basket, with clear directions on how to set up.

Moving over to where the mare stood, perfectly still behind the stallion, Alistair held his arms up. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

“What, just jump,” she snorted.

“Bring your leg around front, and then I’ll catch you. Promise,” he winked up at her.

“Oh, that’s comforting. ‘I’ll catch you’,” she mocked his tone. “Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”

“Such a pessimist,” he laughed. “Come on, we haven’t got all day.” Grumbling under her breath, she did as she was bid, closing her eyes right before she jumped off. But instead of the hard ground rising up to meet her, she found herself ensconced within broad arms, her hands pressed against a firm wall of muscle. “See, told you,” he murmured.

Opening one eye, Aislinn giggled up at him. “So you did.” His hand crept up to her face, hesitantly stroking the velvet of her cheek.

“You are quite possibly the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” he breathed, his voice dropping by a register. 

“And you are very handsome, although I’m sure you’ve heard that a thousand times,” closing her eyes, she leaned further in to his caress.

“I have, but those women were not like you. And from anyone who ever mattered. Only you.” Her eyes flew open wide at his words, her heart beating so frantically she was sure he could hear it. Or was that his heart? Curling her fingers over his chest, she inhaled sharply as she felt his own pulse racing in time with her own.

“Are you gonna kiss?” Suddenly, he released his hold on her, finding himself unable to meet her bemused face.

“Would it be so terrible if we did?” Alistair asked the boy seriously.

“Mm. No,” Lochlan shook her head. “Does that mean you love her? Mama kisses me because she loves me.”

“I, uh, um-”

“Did you set up the picnic, Lochlan?”

“I did! Can we eat? I saw a strawberry tart. Can I eat that first?”

“After,” following after her son, Aislinn glanced back only to see Alistair standing there, still staring blankly at the ground. “Would you like to eat, Alistair?”

“Oh!” his head jerked up. “Food. Yes.”

It seemed like she had lost him for the duration of the meal; his mind was far, far away from the rest of them. Keeping one eye on him, Aislinn spent most of the meal talking to Lochlan, who was going on and on about the new things he was learning from the tutors. Just the other month, Alistair had offered to let Lochlan join in on the classes the other children of the nobility were taking, mentioning that there was another boy about the same age as he that could use a friend. And so, her son began learning about the basics- history of Ferelden, to recognize his letters and shapes and numbers, and other things appropriate for a three and a half year old to know. It was a generous offer, she knew, and it made her happy to hear her son so excited to learn.

“Can I eat the tart now, Mama?” licking the juices from the roast off of his finger, he eyed the basket hopefully.

“Yes, you can. Did you want to go play?” Cramming the whole sweet into his mouth, Lochlan nodded excitedly. “Go with him, girl,” she motioned to the dog, who immediately set after the boy. “And stay away from the water!”

“Sorry I’ve been out of it,” snapping back to reality, Alistair offered her an apologetic smile.

“I thought you forgot about us,” she laughed.

“Never.” Something in his ardent tone sent shivers down her spine and goosebumps prickling across her arms. His eyes were a brilliant shade of blue as he stared over at her. Taking her hand in his own, he examined her fingers- smooth, with just a hint of roughness. Which meant her life before arriving in Denerim had been a relatively comfortable one. Nobleborn? She certainly had the bearing for it. Or just a circle mage? Suddenly, he had to know. “Who are you?”

“Hmm?”

“Before you came here. Who were you? I realized I know nothing about you before I showed up injured on your doorstep,” his lopsided grin did nothing to detract from the intensity of his gaze.

“Before…” How much should she tell him? She hadn’t even told Cullen the extent of her past. “I’m not sure.” This would be the safest. “I woke up on a beach outside of Kirkwall in late 34 and was taken the Gallows right after. I stayed in the Circle for a year ish? Then escaped when I got pregnant. Before I woke up,” she shrugged. “I don’t remember much, just bits and pieces. I know I’m an orphan. I know I had a rough childhood. But nothing beyond that.”

“I’m an orphan, as well. Never knew either of my parents. Arl Eamon raised me until I was 10, then I was sent to the Chantry. So… Lochlan’s father was a mage?” She shook her head. “Templar, then. I can definitely see how that would be… complicated,” he watched as the boy frolicked with the mabari, rolling around in the field. “So, there’s not a chance you’re a noble, is there?”

Aislinn shook her head, confused as to what he was getting at. “No. I’m commonborn. Why?”

“Your hands, I thought-” Exhaling a deep lungful of air, he sat up straight and turned to face her. “Aislinn. I wanted you to know I’m serious about how- how I feel for you. I admit, I was hoping you might be a secret noble, but since you’re not… I don’t know if this can go anywhere. It’s very unlikely the Landsmeet would allow me to marry someone not of the nobility. But I want to court you. I want to pursue a relationship with you. It’s up to you, though. I’m not sure what will happen,” his face dropped a bit at that, “But I want to try.”

The world stopped spinning. The sounds of nature faded from her ears. He wanted to court her with the intention of marriage? What would happen if they did fall in love, and the nobles wouldn’t allow them to marry?

“I just want you to know, this isn’t some fling or casual thing for me,” he continued as she made no move to respond. “I’ve never actually been in a relationship. I’ve had a few… liaisons,” he blushed and averted his eyes as he said the word as if it were dirty, “After I became king, but I didn’t really enjoy them. I wanted something deeper, something more meaningful. And then I found you.”

“Alistair, I…”

“You still love him,” he sighed ruefully. “I understand, I-”

“No!” Grabbing his arm, she pulled him back to her, his face brightening with hope. “I mean, I do still love him, yes. But I don’t think he wants me,” she smiled sadly. “It’s been over a year, and he hasn’t written to me at all. Maybe he’s glad we’re gone and no longer his responsibility. Maybe he’s relieved. I don’t know.”

“He’s a fool if he thinks that, Aislinn,” Alistair declared with fervent resolution. “Any man would honored to have you by his side, and a smart man would fight tooth and nail to keep you there.” There was nothing to be done for the blush that spread across her freckled cheek and the giggle that escaped her lips. “So, is that a yes?”

Nibbling on her lower lip as her gaze swept out across the meadow, she didn’t see what her simple action did to him, his nostrils flaring as he stared at her mouth. “Just wondering, what would happen if this went farther and the nobles decided against it?”

“I mean, they don’t really have control over my personal life, just my marriage, which seems slightly ridiculous, come to think of it,” he grimaced. “So, we could continue as we are for however long we want.”

“But you would have to marry someday,” she watched him carefully.

“I would, yes,” he sighed. So she would be his mistress, or they would end things, if that ever happened. _There are worse things in life than being a king’s mistress, I suppose. Especially if we care for one another._ But could she do it? Alistair eyed her like an eagle, or maybe an overeager puppy, she smiled to herself. His eyes were wide with hope, and he was barely breathing, his chest perilously still. _Well. Only one way to find out._

“I think,” she took a deep breath. “I would like to try, too. If that’s alright with you.”

His face shone like the literal sun as he pulled her closer to him, holding her tightly against his chest. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, he murmured huskily, “Let me think about it.” His head ducked down to meet hers, his lips gently sweeping over hers in a silken touch. “I think that will do quite nicely.” The kiss was firmer this time, pressing into her warmth, his tongue hot and playful as he slowly teased her mouth open to taste her more fully. Groaning, he cradled her head with one hand and tilted her backwards, demanding more of her. Maker, her scent, her sweet moans, the feel of her in his arms- it was too much and not enough at the same time.  
When they finally broke away to gasp in desperately needed air, Alistair was thrilled to note that she was just as flustered and disoriented as he. Thumbing her swollen lips, he dropped a quick, chaste kiss to the rosy skin. “Maker, you are lovely. I could do that all day, you know.”

“I’d let you do that all day,” she laughed. Leaning against the tree, he pulled her into his lap, her back pressed against his chest as they watched Lochlan, now laying on the ground side by side with the dog, pointing out shapes in the clouds to his new friend. “He’s having fun.”

“He’s such a sweet lad,” Alistair rested his chin atop her head. “It’s obvious you love him very much.”

“He makes it easy,” she replied.

“Hmm. Takes after his mother, I suppose,” he nuzzled her ear. “I wish we could stay out here forever.”

“There’s no cheese out here, Your Majesty,” she tilted her head back to grin up at him. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

“Hey,” he protested. “I lasted over a year out on the road, thank you very much. Sans cheese. Granted, it was horrible, but I did it.”

“Why were you on the road for a year?”

“You really don’t know?” Had he ever met anyone who didn’t know? “I was a Grey Warden, before becoming king. Fought the archdemon in the Fifth Blight and everything.” Aislinn could vaguely recall reading something about blights in the history book, but she hadn’t really paid attention.

“Tell me about it?”

“Are you sure? It’s a long, boring story.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I like hearing your voice.” How was he supposed to say no to that? Holding her just a little tighter, he relaxed, for what felt like the first time in years.

“Alright. It all started out in the year 29, when I was recruited by Duncan…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is so sweet, he makes my teeth hurt.


	15. A Single Rose

Aislinn smiled at the single red rose laying across her workbench that morning. Every single day when she went into her clinic, there was a freshly plucked flower of some sort waiting for her. During the summer, it had been a combination of daisies and lilies. Now that fall had set in, it was roses. Perfect, crimson blooms at the peak of their growth cycle. Casting a quick spell over the petals, she froze it in perpetual life and placed it in the tiny crystal vase in the corner along with the few others she had saved over the months. A small sliver of parchment below the stem caught her eye, her name scrawled across the front. The text on the inside read simply, “Have supper with me?” accompanied by a small doodle of a stick figure holding a flower. An artist, His Majesty was not.

Penning a quick affirmative, she flagged down a servant to deliver it for her. The summer had passed in total bliss for both of them. Alistair was attentive and devoted to her, showering her with affection at every opportunity. Up until now, she hadn’t realized how much she had missed having that human connection with someone. It was the little things, a hand on her back, a brush of her cheek, or a foot nudging hers that she adored. It made her feel wanted, important. Like she mattered.

Lochlan, to her and the scandalized nobility’s dismay, had taken to calling the king by his first name no matter where they were, but Alistair loved it. They were inseparable when he was not attending court, constantly plotting and planning some new grand adventure. It warmed her heart, to see her son so happy, to see Alistair lavishing so much attention on him. Sometimes, it frightened her if she let thoughts of what if creep into her mind. But then, they would distract her with their charming giggles and she’d remember that it was the here and now that counted. And here and now… She loved him.

There really was no denying it anymore. The idea of being with him terrified her. He had become a part of her life, a part of her soul, just as Cullen once had been. _And look how well that turned out_ , a voice inside her head warned her. _He’s the king. This won’t end well for you either._ Hope. That is what she focused on now. Hope that things would work out in her favor, that she would be able to keep her heart’s desire by her side.

Everyone once in a while, thoughts of Cullen would steal back into her mind. Especially when she caught a glimpse of the templars in the city. Briefly, she wondered if he was still in Kirkwall, or if he had joined up with the other rogue templars. When the news had come that the Lord Seeker had disbanded the Circle of Magi, all of Ferelden had reeled in shock. Every mage was now an apostate. Every templar was now split between the Seekers and their old duty. Where did Cullen fall? 

Sending up a quick prayer to whomever was listening to keep him safe, Aislinn went about her daily business, mixing up random concoctions for nausea, a migraine, intestinal distress, joint pain, and a cold, just to name a few. Glancing out of the window, she paused when she realized the sun was about to set. She would be late. 

Hurrying to her rooms, she quickly sponged off at her basin and replaited her hair, pulling out the new dress he had made for her last month. It was in the latest style, the seamstress had told her, with a daring neckline that showed off her ample assets and a tightly cinched bodice that laced at the sides, so at least she could tie it herself. Now, where was her son?

Lochlan was spending the night with his friend, she remembered. So tonight…

It would just be the two of them. Things had not progressed further beyond kissing with wandering hands, but lately, they both could feel the shift in their energies. She wanted more. And so did he. And tonight, perhaps, they would find what they sought.

Suddenly nervous, Aislinn smooth down the burgundy velvet as she knocked on his door. Peeking her head inside, she smiled as she saw him pacing around the table, poking and sliding dishes around until he deemed that their arrangement was perfect. “Mm, the fork is about 2 millimeters off center.”

He jumped when he heard her voice. “Oh, you’re here. I, ah-” Glancing up bashfully at her, he took her hand and led her closer. “It’s the one year anniversary of when you came to the palace. I figured we could celebrate?” Pouring a hefty serving of wine, he offered her the glass. “I propose a toast. To your presence here. May you always be here, and be happy here.”

“I can agree with that,” taking a sip, she studied the lavish spread. “Alistair, this is so much. Even for you and your appetite,” teasing, she poked his stomach. “The cooks really outdid themselves.”

“I wanted it to be special for you.” He held out the chair for her, sliding her in. “Maker, this really does smell divine. Shall we?”

“So what was all that yelling I heard in the throne room earlier?”

“Ugh,” wrinkling his nose, Alistair speared a piece of pheasant. “I told you about the Conclave that the Divine is holding in Haven at the beginning of the year, yes? Well, I had a representative chosen to go, but he’s decided to back out, since his lands are a literal warzone right now. The damn rebel templars and mages are wreaking havoc all throughout the Hinterlands right now. It’s a mess. And I need someone to go, but no one else wants to. Or rather, no one both intelligent and trustworthy wants to go. I’m at a loss.”

Munching on a bite of roasted potato, Aislinn considered his words. “Haven is what, a week’s ride away?”

“About ten days from here.”

“I could go.”

“Aislinn…”

“Ten days there, a week at the Conclave, and ten days back. I wouldn’t be gone too terribly long. And I’m fairly intelligent, and I think you trust me,” she smiled. Glaring at her, Alistair sighed morosely and slumped in his chair, unable to find fault with her logic.

“I suppose it isn’t a terrible idea, seeing as how you’re probably invested in the outcome just as much as I am, but I don’t like the idea. The roads aren’t safe.”

“So send a guard with me,” she shrugged.

“I’ll send a whole platoon with you,” grumbling, he poked viciously at a lump of zucchini. “Maybe the entire damn army.”

“You’ll watch over Lochlan for me, right?”

“Of course,” he waved his fork at her. “He can bunk with me while you’re gone. We can make forts and finish reading The Adventures of the Black Fox. He’s been bugging me to finish that one recently. It’ll be fun. Where is he tonight, anyways?”

“Having a sleepover with Errol,” she spoke around a mouthful of food. Maker, but he loved this woman. She was all grace and courteous in public to his court, but here? She was _real_ , inelegant, unladylike. It was perfect.

“A sleepover, eh? Does that mean you’re alone tonight?” His eyebrows waggled at her in the most ludicrous display she had ever seen. Choking on her wine, Aislinn coughed violently as he pounded her back.

“It does,” she croaked. “Don’t do that again when I’m drinking, I almost died.”

“Duly noted,” he laughed. “Sooooo…” Pushing his plate away, the food forgotten as a different type of hunger reared its head, he stood up and pulled her out of her chair, running his hands up the curve of her waist, delicately tracing the creamy expanse of skin along the edge of her plunging neckline as his voice grew husky. “Stay with me tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

His lips crashed down on her as he finally released the tight hold on his self control he had been reigning in for the past several months. Grabbing ahold of her bottom, he lifted her up against him, reveling in the feel of her legs wrapping around his waist as he stumbled unseeing into his bedroom, unwilling to part from this sweet kiss. 

“This dress,” he groaned as his hands fumbled at the laces. 

“Do you like it?” she smiled coquettishly back at him. “My lover had it made for me.”

Her lover. That was him now. Feeling his member stiffen at the knowledge that he would soon be inside of her, Alistair practically ripped the laces the rest of the way and began tugging the skirts over her head. “He has excellent taste, my lady.”

He was staring. His mouth was completely dry. She was a vision, standing there in her lacy black smalls, her body almost completely bared to his hungry gaze. Slender fingers slowly began unfastening the row of buttons down his shirt, revealing little by little the muscles underneath and the soft, coarse golden red hairs that covered his chest. She sighed as she ran her fingers through it, lightly scratching his skin, dragging her nails over his nipples, delighting at his sharp hiss of pleasure, feeling every inch of skin that she could reach. He was heaven to her senses. 

Alistair slid his shirt off of his shoulders and unceremoniously yanked his trousers down, kicking the offensive fabric somewhere off to the side. He wasn’t wearing smalls. Aislinn was the one staring now. “Oh,” she breathed. With great care, she reached for his erect length, gently brushing her thumb over the leaking tip. He was beautiful, thick, the head a darkening purple and swollen, a prominent vein thrumming down one side. She literally ached to taste him.

Dropping to her knees, it was almost like she was in a trance as she wrapped her fingers securely around his base and guided him into her waiting mouth. Alistair gasped as he felt the hot, wet heat of her around him, her tongue massaging and swirling around his sensitive flesh. It was the most perfect, sweetest torture he could have possibly imagined. “Aislinn,” he groaned, “Maker, that feels-” Whatever else he was going to say was lost as she drew one of his tight balls into her mouth, caressing them each in turn before releasing them. Pressing a finger to the skin just behind his sac, she returned her attention to his cock and sucked. _Hard_. He was done for. Thrusting helplessly into her mouth, he cried out as he came, watching in awe as she eagerly swallowed every drop of his spend, Aislinn groaning as if she were the one in ecstasy.

“You taste delicious,” she purred.

“You,” he gasped, leaning against his bedpost. “Shit.”’ Giggling and utterly pleased with herself, she pressed her body against his, the lace of her breastband scratching him. He needed to see all of her. Right now. Ripping off the undergarments, Alistair guided her towards the bed and pounced on her as she scooted back, moaning loudly around a mouthful of her breast. She was perfect, each heavy orb filling his hand precisely, the dusky brown of her nipples begging to be licked. Gently nibbling on the hardening peaks, he ran his hands all over her exposed body, drowning in her embrace. Soft, so soft, moreso than silk or velvet. And she was here, with him, begging for his touch. He was in heaven, that was the only explanation for such a miracle. He had died, and she was his reward.

Shimmying down the length of the bed, Alistair pried her legs apart, examining the state of her core. Her arousal glistened on her folds, coating her skin and dripping down onto the bed. Swiping a finger down her seam, he tasted her. And immediately dove in for more. It was a wholly different experience from Cullen, she hazily thought. Cullen had gone down on her with stark precision, knowing what every little nip and sideways lick would do to her, wearing her down until he forced her to come. But Alistair devoured her like a starving man, noisily slurping his grand feast with utter abandon. There was no finesses, no grace to his technique. Just hunger. His tongue and fingers were everywhere, holding her apart, delving inside of her, circling her pearl. She wouldn’t last much longer like this, she knew. Arching her back as he fingers grazed against the perfect spot, she keened as he realized what happened and went back over that rough patch inside of her, over and over until she was screaming his name, clamping her thighs around his head, and gushing into his waiting mouth.

“Gods,” she mumbled. “Sorry if I suffocated you.” Sitting back on his heels, Alistair grinned down at her, wiping her juices off of his chin as he caressed her leg. If he thought she was beautiful before, now… She was a goddess. Her netherlips swollen and puffy, her skin flushed, chest heaving, hair spread out in a glorious, wild array- brought to pleasure by his hand. Smug couldn’t even begin to describe him right now.

Bracing himself over her, he shrugged. “I didn’t mind. Not in the slightest bit.” Her eyes widened as she felt his tip nudge at her center. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

Aislinn nodded as she raised her legs to lock around his waist. “I’m yours to do with as you will.” Closing his eyes, he took several deep, trembling breaths. And opened them, his eyes almost completely black with the thinnest ring of sky blue around the edges.

“In that case,” he thrust inside of her in one long, smooth stroke. Instantly, her walls clamped down around him, stretching around the large intrusion, Aislinn throwing her head back as she gasped at the burn. “I’m so sorry! I thought-”

“Ali,” she groaned. “Move, dammit.” Relieved that he hadn’t hurt her, he eagerly began testing out his rhythm, sliding in and out with delicious languidness, lazily rolling his hips against hers. “Don’t stop,” whimpering, her nails dug little crescent moons into his biceps as she stared up at him with… affection? Love?

Love. He loved her. Everything she was. The way she laughed, the way she rolled her eyes at him, the way she stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her nose while she was concentrating, the way she treated everyone she met with the same compassion and respect, the way she loved her son. Hit with this sudden revelation, he couldn’t have stopped the words from tumbling out if he had been conscious enough to try. “I love you.” His hips froze as soon as he realized what he said.

“Alistair…”

“It’s okay,” he rushed on, “You don’t-”

“I love you, too.”

“You… love me?” Had he heard right? Was it even possible? Aislinn smiled sweetly up at him, cupping his cheek as she gaze directly into his eyes so he could see her honestly and passion within.

“I do. Very much so.”

“You-” Snapping back, he thrust all the way back in until he was fully hilted. Her cries grew more shrill and breathy as he picked up his pace, leaving her helpless under his assault, only able to hold on to him lest she get swept away. But she wanted to. Wanted to drown in his love, let the current of his passion carry her away. “Come for me, love.”

His calloused fingers rubbed desperately at her clit, building the pleasure inside of her to a high crescendo until she thought she would explode from the pressure. “Now, Aislinn.” She screamed. Her vision faded to white. Through a hazy fog, she watched him as he growled at his own end, feeling his seed coat her womb and fill her on the inside. It was probably one of the sexiest things she had ever seen in her life. Flopping on top of her, he sighed with complete and total contentment. “You love me,” he mumbled into her sweaty skin.

“Mm. I love you,” she agreed. Everything was pleasantly numb, just a faint buzzing in the back of her head. 

“Stay with me,” his voice had dropped to a whisper in her ear.

“As long as you want me to.”

“Forever, then. It’s settled,” he grinned. “I’m going to talk to my advisors about introducing a petition to allow me to formally court you. You may not ever be granted the title of queen, but there would be a chance they would allow me to still marry you one day. I never plan on letting you go, just so you know.”

Snuggling down into his bed, she refused to release him from her embrace. “Good. Don’t wanna be queen anyways. Just want you.”

“You have me,” he softly kissed her forehead. “All of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I have no idea about the growth cycle of roses and Google was unhelpful as it varies by species and from climate to climate. So, Ferelden roses = fall.
> 
> We miiiight see Cullen again soon. :)


	16. Once and Again

Haven was fucking _cold_. Shivering even under the thick layered fur cloak Alistair had gifted her, Aislinn huddled in closer to her horse’s warmth. At least she wasn’t as afraid of being thrown, the lessons he had insisted she take over the last couple of months doing wonders for her confidence. Smiling at the thought of him, her mind drifted back to the last morning before she had left. His arms had been solid and comforting, holding her tight in a futile attempt to keep her there with him, their bodies still slightly slick with sweat from their earlier exertions, just content to bask in the afterglow of their love. She pretty much spent all of her nights with him now, Lochlan sleeping in a small servant’s room off his sitting room that Alistair had converted into a cozy little nook just for him. Everything had been so peaceful, so perfect. She couldn’t wait to get back to him and Lochlan.

Never before had she been separate her son for more than a few hours, and she felt the distance keenly. Not to mention that her baby would be turning four next week, and she wouldn’t be there to give him his birthday present herself as she always had before. _I swear, if Alistair forgets, I will wring his neck._ But she knew he wouldn’t forget; it was entirely possible the man was more excited for Lochlan’s birthday than the child was. At least he had Alistair there, she pouted. If she couldn’t be with him, then she was glad her son would be spending the day with someone who loved him, almost as much as she did. Besides, it was a good thing he hadn’t come with her.

The journey here had been fraught with danger, bandits all over the highway, with the occasional mage-templar skirmish coming just a little too close to their party for Aislinn’s comfort. But Captain Eremon and his men had done their duty, keeping their King’s lover safe from any threat she faced. And now they were here.

“The Chantry is just through those gates there, Mistress Aislinn,” Eremon pointed through the camp. “The ambassador should be inside.” The crowd parted easily enough as she picked her way down the packed road, people neatly jumping out of the way of her heavily armored guard. Just before the gates, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a training camp in front of a beautiful frozen lake, set in front of the tall, jagged peaks of the Frostback Mountains. She had to admit, it was beautiful here, despite the temperatures.

“This must be where this possible Inquisition is gathering,” she mused. “Alright, lead the way, Captain.”

Inside the village walls, the atmosphere was no less hectic. Men and women of every race bustled everywhere, laden with weapons, lumber, herbs, laundry, and who knew what else. Everyone seemed to be in a rush, no matter who they were or where they were going. She even spotted a few Qunari milling about. It was hard to miss them, given their height and the wide berth the townsfolk gave them. Passing a small campfire, Aislinn suddenly froze as she heard a familiar voice.

“Storm! Aislinn, is that you?”

“Varric!” She ran the rest of the way to where the dwarf stood, laughing all the while. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest,” he snorted that word, “Or prisoner. Depends on who you ask. Of the Seeker. Andraste’s tits, but it’s good to see you. How’s the country treating you?”

“The country?” she asked. Puzzled at why he thought she would in the country, she continued, “Didn’t you get my last letter?”

“Last one I got from you was after you settled in the alienage. Said you were trying to save to leave the city,” Varric answered slowly. “So you didn’t leave?”

Oh, this was all a mess. Was this why Cullen never responded? Was it because he never knew where she was? Aislinn felt her stomach rise into her throat, her last meal threatening to evict itself. Suddenly feeling faint and dizzy, she swayed on her feet, only held up by the armored wall that was Captain Eremon bracing her with his arm. _And I_ \- “Varric, did Cullen get my letter I left for him?” He nodded. “When?” she demanded. She had to know. Was it only a month or two later? Had she been… with Alistair while he had been searching for her? _God, what have I done?_

“Drakonis, the year after,” his ponytail swung like a pendulum as he slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Storm. He was rather distraught at your disappearance, especially since neither of us knew where you were.”

Drakonis. It had taken him eleven months to finally even realize she was missing. Her previous hesitation fizzled out in the wake of her indignant fury. A whole fucking year. Even after she warned him about the looting and he promised to send the guard. Somehow, she doubted he ever had. “I was offered a position as a healer at the palace, after I saved the king’s life,” her voice was flat and emotionless. It didn’t matter anyways. She was with Alistair now, who had yet to break a single promise to her or let her or Lochlan down. It was better this way.

“King Alistair?” Varric asked with surprise. “Huh, small world. He’s a good guy. Shit, are all those guards with you?”

“His Majesty wished to ensure the safety of his healer,” Captain Eremon replied gruffly. 

“Looks like he sent a small army with you,” the dwarf chuckled.

“He threatened to send the whole army,” smiling tightly, she reached out to squeeze his arm. “It was good seeing you, Varric. I’ve got to go introduce myself to the ambassador, but maybe we can catch up more later? I’m here for the Conclave, so I should be here until the end of the week.”

“Sure, I’ll be around.” There was a huge weight lifted off his chest with the newfound knowledge that Aislinn was alive and well. Thriving, even. She looked better than she had the last time he saw her in Kirkwall; her eyes were brighter, cheeks rosier, although that could have been because of the biting wind, and her voice was lighter. 

_Curly’s gonna be excited when he finds out. ...Shit. I never told her he was here. Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine._

***

The Chantry was much dimmer inside compared to the glaringly bright sun reflecting off the icy snow just behind her. Blinking several times while her eyes adjusted, Aislinn studied the chamber she found herself in. It was fairly small, compared to the Chantry in Denerim, but that was to be expected. She could tell some of the portions of the walls had been recently renovated, the stonework a different shade of brown than the rest of the gray slabs. There, at the back, were several wooden doors. Perhaps the ambassador was through one of those? It would probably be better to ask someone rather than just barge in.

“Excuse me,” she motioned to a Sister, recognizable by the golden sunburst embroidered on her robes. “I’m looking for a Lady Montilyet. Do you know where I can find her?”

“I am Lady Montilyet.” Turning towards the sound of the rich, accented voice, Aislinn dropped into a smooth curtsy at the sight of the dark skinned noblewoman. “How may I assist?”

“I was sent by His Majesty, King Alistair of Ferelden as his envoy. I bring you a letter from him,” she proffered a sealed scroll that the woman took with an elegant hand. “My name is Aislinn.” She never used her surname anymore. It drew too much attention in this place.

“Mistress Aislinn, of course. I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” Breathing in the spicy scent of the air in the small office she was ushered into, she basked in the warmth emanating from the small brazier in the corner. “Ah, yes. His Majesty wished for you to bring some correspondence to the Divine? I will talk with her attendants, a meeting before the Conclave begins tomorrow should be possible. Do you have attendants with you?”

“My guard,” Aislinn sighed. “Is there a place they can camp? There are twenty of them.”

“Maker,” the Antivan woman gasped. “So many.”

“His Majesty was worried about the condition of the roads,” she muttered in a tone that told the ambassador that she thought the amount excessive as well.

“He was right to be,” Lady Montilyet assured her. “Ferelden has borne the brunt of the fighting between the mages and the templars. Let’s see. There should be room in this field just across the bridge, if your men wish to camp there.”

“Captain,” she called to the waiting soldier. “Will this be sufficient?”

Peering at the map spread out across the desk, he gave a satisfied nod. “Aye, that’ll be fine for us. What of you, Mistress Aislinn?”

“I assumed I’d be camping with you again? Unless you have a suggestion, Lady Montilyet,” Aislinn glanced back at the ambassador, who shook her head apologetically.

“I wish I did, but the town’s lodgings have long since filled with the massive influx of people coming for the Conclave.”

“That’s alright. I feel safer with these soldiers, anyhow,” she smiled up at the stalwart captain, who straightened his spine under her attentive praise. Having the approval of the king’s mistress was not a small thing, after all.

“Excellent. I will send a runner to find you once I know the time of your audience with the Divine. If you need anything else, I will be here.”

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet,” Aislinn offered her another curtsy. “Shall we, Captain?”

*** 

Camping in a tent, in the middle of a frozen wasteland, and waking up before dawn should be illegal, she grumbled to herself. _Thank god I’m a mage. Otherwise, I’d be dead of hypothermia by now._ Casting a small fire spell, she melted the ice in her water basin, keeping her skin warm as she quickly washed and dressed herself into her thick, woolen skirts and braided her hair back. Peering out at the pale gray dawn, she was relieved to note that there should be just enough time for her to grab an actual, hot breakfast before heading up the mountain to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Fastening her cloak around her neck, she pinned the bulky fabric together with her silverite pin that had once been her Satinalia present, in what seemed like another lifetime. She really didn't know why she kept it still. _Sentimental fool_ , she chided herself. When she got back to Denerim, she would get herself a different one. There had been some lovely pieces in the marketplace the other week. Bracing herself for the cold, she spied another of her guard was waiting by her tent as she stepped out, crisply saluting her no matter how many times she told them not to. “My lady,” he nodded.

“I’m still not a lady, Cale,” she teased, as his young face flushed redder than it already was from the bitter winds. “Let’s go find some food, shall we?”

The encampment was just beginning to stir in the pre-dawn light, soldiers and laborers beginning their day’s work. Gratefully, she took Cale’s elbow he extended to her as they carefully skimmed over the bridge, slipping a few times on the slick ice. “The ambassador said that the tavern sold food. Let’s try there first.”

Luckily at this time of the day, the cozy building was relatively empty. Ordering two bowls of oatmeal for her and her escort, Aislinn settled down to wait. It promised to be an eventful week, at least, given the amount of mages and templars that had convened in this small powderkeg of a village. Already, there had been several arguments, a few of them escalating into fights with fireballs and Purges flying around until the participants could be dragged apart.

“Do you think it’ll work, my lady? The Conclave, I mean,” Cale suddenly asked as he stared at his half-eaten bowl of food.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I certainly hope so, but… it appears a great deal of damage has already been done. If the Divine can at least negotiate a truce, that would be something. I don’t know what the Lord Seeker was thinking, to disband the Circles like that. It’s so strange. Are you worried for someone?” The distress in his ruddy face was beyond obvious.

“My younger brother,” the young man muttered. “He’s a mage. Luckily, he was able to come home when Kinloch was disbanded, but- he’s only 11. And all of this fighting, it’s too much for him. He’s too young for any of this.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” offering what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Cale slowly nodded, swallowing the last bite of his food. “Ready?”

“Aye, ma’am.” Considering it a win that he didn’t call her ‘my lady’ again, Aislinn swept back into the chilled air and through the front gate of Haven. Only to collide with a metal wall.

“Oh, I beg your pardon mistress, I did not see you- _Aislinn_?!”

She knew that voice. It had haunted her dreams for the past two years. But there was no way he could be here. _Oh, you’re a fool. Why wouldn’t he be here, the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?_ Inch by stuttered inch, she raised her head until she was staring into a pair of amber eyes she had been certain she’d never see again.

“Knight-Captain. What a surprise.”

Cullen flinched at the frigid, flat tone of her voice. But she was here, she was alive, and Maker’s breath, she was even more beautiful than he had remembered. “Aislinn, I-”

“I have an appointment with the Divine, ser. If you’ll excuse me,” she turned away from him.

“Wait, please!” His gloved hand darted out to securely wrap around her slender wrist. “Aislinn, just a moment, _please_.”

“Oy,” a young soldier he hadn’t even noticed frowned as he stepped between them. “Release her, now.”

“And who are you?” It was impossible to keep the sneer out of his voice or his contempt from his face, but the lad, to his credit, did not falter the slightest bit.

“He’s part of my guard,” she sighed. “You changed your hair.”

“Your guard?” Glancing down at the man’s breastplate, Cullen recognized the heraldry of the royal house of Ferelden. “The king’s guard? Why are you being accompanied by the king’s men? Uh, yes, I did. Do you like it?”

“It suits you. Please let go of my hand.” There was no emotion to be found anywhere in her expression, making him wonder how far her distaste of him now extended. Reluctantly, he released her.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” he murmured softly, unable to tear his gaze away from her face, however cross she was. “I’ve been so worried. I was sure you and Lochlan were dead.”

Her snort startled both him and her guard. “Right,” she scoffed. “I’m sure you were so worried. Tell me, Cullen. How long after I left did you even realize I was gone?”

“Not long after.” Wincing as soon as he said it, he steeled himself for the rage he knew was coming.

Her eyes widened as she gaped incredulously up at him. “You think almost a _year_ is not long? I talked to Varric yesterday. Do you know what he told me? He told me that you didn’t come by until Drakonis the next fucking year. When I told you I was scared! When I told you that I _knew_ what was going to happen! And you- You know what, I don’t have time for this. We’re going to be late. Let’s go, Cale.” Whirling away, Aislinn stomped down the road, leaving behind tendrils of electricity crackling in the air around him.

“Aislinn, I can explain. Wait!” Her step wavered just a bit as she heard the desperation in his voice, but what she said was true. There was still some ways to the Temple and it would not do to be late to an audience with the most powerful woman in all of Thedas.

Rubbing her suddenly aching temples, Aislinn fought to get her temper and her magic back under control. _The nerve of that man, that- that_ templar. _To tell me than eleven fucking months of not seeing his son was not long. And fuck him, for changing his hair._ For even in her incensed state of mind, she could not ignore how handsome he still was, especially with a bit more fat on his face and his blonde curls smoothed back into stately waves. It made him appear so much more… mature? Commanding? Sexy as hell?

“Are you alright, my lady?” _Back to that again._

Nodding, her smile was thin and stilted as she stared down into the valley. “Fine.” Unwilling to elaborate anymore, Aislinn wondered what he now thought of her and whether or not her spat with her former lover would make it back to Alistair. _Even if it did, the king wouldn’t care. He knows that my relationship with that asshole was far in the past. And he is my future now._ Barely noticing the ancient architecture as they walked in, she glanced down at the map in her hands. “Her chambers are this way.”

Smoothing her skirts, Aislinn finally noticed her surroundings as they waited in front of a nondescript wooden door. The stone was a pitted, light gray, roughly hewn into large stone blocks. It was impressive, she thought, that the walls were still standing so strong after so many centuries of disuse. Alistair had told her the story of when he and the Hero of Ferelden had found the ancient temple and the ashes of Andraste herself, but back then, it had been filled with cultists and dragons. She was very, very glad there were no more dragons here.

“I’m sorry, mistress, but the Divine is not back from her last appointment yet and the Conclave is about to start. If you like, I can reschedule your meeting for later today,” the attendant bowed to her.

“If you would,” she inclined her head. “Thank you. Well,” turning back to Cale, she wrinkled her nose at him. “Looks like we got up early for nothing. Come on, we should find a good spot in the main hall.”

Heading back the way they came, Aislinn made the first left she saw. And then another left. And a right. Or was it supposed to have been left? Yes, it was. Backtracking to the last intersection, she groaned as she realized, they were hopelessly-

“We’re lost, aren’t we,” Cale chuckled quietly. “Do you still have the map?” Sheepishly, she handed the parchment to the soldier.

“I thought I remembered the way out,” she groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries. Looks like we should have taken that turn up there.” Following her escort, Aislinn pulled her cloak tighter around her. It was colder in this part of the temple, a slight wind and shouting blowing in from-

Shouting? “Cale, wait. I heard screaming.” Hiking up her skirts, Aislinn sprinted down a side corridor, ignoring her companion’s yells for her to stop until she reached the double doors at the far end of the hall.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

“What’s going on here?”

“Run, while you can!”

The world erupted into a agonizing, blinding green light, and then faded to black. And she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :O :D


	17. The Question That Burns

She hated how they all stared at her, whispering about her as she passed. She detested the way her palm sparked and throbbed, already sick of that particular shade of green. She cringed at the smell of death in the air, that distinct scent of burning flesh from the massive pyres just outside of the village walls. But most of all, she abhorred the title that followed her.

Herald of fucking Andraste.

_Shit._

Sighing in resignation as she heard the dulcet tones of Chancellor Roderick arguing with the Seeker, Aislinn prepared herself as she pushed open the heavy door at the back of the Chantry. The man was like a dog with a bone, his mind focused on only one thing- blaming her for everything that happened. Like she could have done anything different. She didn’t even remember anything from the blast or right before, but he didn’t believe her. All she had been reduced to was an apostate with the means to close the Breach.

Somehow, the explosion that had killed hundreds, including the Divine and sweet, innocent Cale, had spared her and ripped a hole in the sky. A hole that only she could mend. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was go back to Denerim and hold her son. Alistair. She needed desperately to hear his voice, to have him reassure her that everything was going to be alright, even though she knew it would be a lie.

“Aislinn? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry,” shaking her head, she glanced up at the other women. “I was lost in my head for a minute. What did you say?”

Frowning sharply at her, the Seeker Cassandra repeated slowly, “Will you help us? Join the Inquisition, seal the Breach?”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to go back _home_. But it was clear to her, that if she left this Breach unattended, it would swallow the world. Home wouldn’t exist anymore if she turned away now. Plus, she was a healer. Helping was what she did, right? Damn her heart. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” the Nevarran smiled gratefully. “Allow me to introduce the others. You’ve already met Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador. And this is Sister Nightingale, Leliana. She’s our spymaster.” Aislinn had to stifle a giggle at the Nightingale’s exasperated sigh.

“Well put, Cassandra.”

“And all we’re missing is our Commander.” Candles flickered as the door swung open as if on cue and she heard the clang of armor rubbing against itself. “May I present Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s army.”

Commander? Now that she was really looking at him, Aislinn noticed that he was no longer in his templar uniform, the sword of mercy nowhere in sight. “Y-you’re not a templar any longer?”

“No,” he smiled sadly at her. “I left the Order.”

“You two know each other?” Leliana’s eyebrow raised in surprise, her finger twitching.

“Um. I was at the Gallows, for a bit, several years ago,” Aislinn stared at the map in front of her.

“Hmm.”

“Is there any family you need to contact first, Herald?”

Wincing at the title, Aislinn leaned over the table to stare unseeing at the map laid before them. “Do you have to call me that here? Aislinn does quite nicely. And yes, I have a son. He'll need to know I'm alright, and that I'm staying here.”

“Did you need to make any arrangements for him?” Josephine’s quill was poised over her writing board.

“He’s safe where he is, at the palace. I would rather not bring him through all the fighting here, so close to the Breach. Speaking of which,” she glanced up at the women, studiously avoiding Cullen’s stare. “Do they know of what happened here yet? In Denerim?”

“They do,” Leliana nodded. “Ravens were sent out that day with word. I believe your charming captain sent a message to the king.” Eremon. The man had been ready to fall on his sword when the temple exploded, thinking that she had died in the blast. When he found out the Seeker was holding her, he just about challenged her to a duel then and there when she would not release her prisoner. Luckily, Aislinn had been able to calm the man and begged him to help the others while she did what she could with her newfound magical hand.

“May I borrow a quill and paper, please? I’ve got to get a letter to Alistair as soon as possible.”

“Alistair, is it?” she heard the smirk in Leliana’s voice. “How old is your son?”

“He turns four tomorrow.” Taking the quill that Josephine handed her, she didn’t notice how quickly the color drained from Cullen’s face, or the way that his shoulders slumped.

“And his father? Is the king…?”

“No, he’s not,” Cullen snapped. “I am, not the bloody king.”

Silence descended over the room, thick and suffocating. Slowly laying down the pen, Aislinn calmly folded the brief note and handed it to Leliana. “If you don’t mind sending this out as soon as possible, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“The Commander is the father of your child?” Cassandra demanded in astonishment. She could scarcely believe her ears. None of them could, judging by the wide eyes and open mouths.

At least he had the grace to blush. Glaring at him with a frosty expression, Aislinn replied tersely, “He is.”

“Who else knows about this?” Leliana asked slowly.

Rubbing her temples, she shrugged nonchalantly. “Hawke. His companions, most of whom are scattered across Thedas.”

“Varric?” Aislinn nodded. 

Cassandra stuck her head out of the door, barking at the first person she saw, “Someone bring me the dwarf!” Briefly, Aislinn wondered how the person would know which dwarf to bring, but sure enough, just a few minutes later, Varric was shoved into the back chamber.

“Hey, hey! What’s the rush? Oh, hey Storm.”

“You know about the Commander and the Herald’s son?” Scooting away from the outraged Seeker, Varric slowly inched closer to Aislinn.

“Lochlan? Yeah. Great kid. Smart.”

“This is a disaster,” Cassandra groaned.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, Aislinn tilted her head at the woman. “Why?”

“You are now being called the Herald of Andraste,” Josephine sighed. “Regardless of the fact that the Chantry has denounced us, you are now being held as a holy figure to the people.”

“And a child out of wedlock, with our Commander, no less, would severely damage our reputation,” Leliana finished. “Varric. You cannot reveal Aislinn’s son’s true parentage to anyone, do you understand?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Got it.”

A title she never even wanted. And now she was being called holy when she didn't even believe in their religion? It was insane. She wasn’t some savior sent by the Bride of the Maker. She was a person who didn’t even belong on Thedas. Nobody. Just a mother, with a small talent for healing. That was it.

“So what will we tell people?”

“Does it matter?” Aislinn shook her head. “Lochlan will be staying at the palace for now. There’s no reason to tell people anything, is there?”

“Someone will find out sooner or later,” Josephine patted her arm sympathetically. “Once your name spreads, people at the palace will know who you and your son are. The nobility. If they spread the word…”

“Unless they marry.”

Snapping her head up at the spymaster’s words, Aislinn began violently shaking her head even as the ambassador and Seeker hesitantly nodded their approval.

“I would,” Cullen’s head jerked up, pinning her in place with a gaze so intense, she could feel her skin burn. “If she would have me.” 

“I can’t,” she gasped. “You can’t ask me that, not after everything, you can’t, you can’t-” Helpless to stem the flow of tears, Aislinn backed away from the massive oak table like a fox caught in a trap, tripping over the uneven floor as she went.

“We will give you a moment.” Quickly, the other three woman slipped out of the door, leaving only Cullen and Aislinn standing there, staring at each other, lost in their maelstrom of emotion beneath the soft candlelight.

In the immediate silence, neither of them spoke. Bringing her sleeve to her eyes, Aislinn sucked in several sharp breaths, squeezing her eyes shut as she let her head flop back against the wall.

“So… you and… the king?” His voice, although quiet, seemed to reverberate through the small chamber.

Without opening her eyes, she nodded, proud that her voice only wavered slightly. “He’s a good man, kind and generous.”

“You’re sleeping with him,” he replied flatly.

“...Yes.” Would it have been kinder to lie?

“Do you love him?”

“I… yes. I do.”

Faster than she had thought humanly possible, he vanished from the opposite side of the war room only to reappear a mere hairsbreadth before her face. Rough hands sprang up to pin her to the wall, trapping her in the iron prison of his arms. “We could do this. Marry me. I’m not a templar any longer. There is nothing to hold me back. We can be a family again, actually stay together, you, me, our son. I know you still love me, Linn.” A slow blink was his only indication that she heard him. “Tell me- tell me there’s no hope left for anything between us. That you don’t love me at all,” he demanded hoarsely, licking his parched lips. “Tell me that, and I will leave you be.”

It would be so easy, to tell him the truth. That her heart yearned for him like air to starved lungs. He was the love of her life, her first and dearest. But where would that leave her and their son? She knew what lay down that path- disappointment and lonliness. Had he truly changed so much in just a few, short years? And now it wasn’t just a city he led. It was an entire army. What was to say that his duties wouldn’t once again interfere with his time with them? She didn’t trust his impassioned plea. Not anymore. “Cullen, I… There’s no hope. I don’t love you anymore.” Steeling her heart, she gazed stoically up at the Commander, trying not to lose herself in the amber depths of his eyes, begging herself to resist the curve of his cheek.

A heartbeat passed. Then another. His scarred lips pulled back into a lopsided smirk. “You always were a horrible liar,” he chuckled. Just as his mouth descended on hers. Hot. Furious. Desperate. Loving. It was heaven and the Void in one glorious package that was utterly Cullen. Unbidden, her arms rose up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as her fingers tangled in his blond waves, wrenching a low groan from his throat that sent a bright pang of desire lancing through her core. Her soul screamed from the depths of her spirit, exuberant at the reunion with its other half, yet her mind begged her to halt this madness, shove him away, protect herself. _Down this road only lies heartache._ This she knew all too well. “Marry me,” he whispered against her swollen lips. “Marry me, Aislinn. Marry me. Be mine, forever.”

How those simple words made her heart soar. Not so long ago, she would have leapt for joy, not hesitated at all to answer him yes. But now? “I can’t,” she gasped, using his surprise to push him off balance. “I can’t!”

Twisting out of his embrace, Aislinn sprinted for the door, throwing it open to race through the chantry nave, heedless of the whispers and stares that followed her.

And then, she was gone, only the serpentstone crackle of ozone fading in the air and the emptiness of his heart left to remind him that she was ever here.

***

She was glad that the Inquisition required her to be on the road a lot. It meant she could get out of Haven, out of the press of people that constantly surrounded her, away from him. Despite the urgings of the sweet Lady Josephine to take at least two days between missions, Aislinn barely waited a night before setting out again in the morning, off to whatever corner of Ferelden needed her more.

At least her companions didn’t complain much. Well, some of them. Which is why the warriors were currently her favorite people. For some reason, neither Cassandra, the Warden Blackwall, or the Qunari mercenary remarked on her willingness to be gone from the comfort of the village as much as possible, while the rogues griped almost nonstop, muttering under their breaths about the rain, the mud, the rocks, the climbing, the cold- _everything_. And then there was the mages who accompanied her- Solas, a mysterious yet polite elf that she couldn’t quite figure out yet, and the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Madame Vivienne. She was surprised at the easy disposition the fancy Orlesian mage displayed in tagging along through the muddy, corpse ridden bog of the Fallow Mire. Even Cassandra had muttered about the muck under her breath.

Despite her desire to stay away from Haven, it was hard to be on the road so much for someone who was used to living an easy life in one spot. Kirkwall, the palace, even the alienage had provided stability for her, and now, there was none. Life had become an endless rote of battles and death and hard jerky and bears, a far cry from the pampered life she had lived as of late.

Sliding down wearily from her horse, Aislinn patted the mare’s neck absently as she realized the pain of being in the saddle for hours and hours each day was finally gone. An overly exaggerated groan from Sera, a spunky archer that she had picked up while in Val Royeaux almost three weeks ago, made her snort as she watched the elf fling herself down on the ground.

“Dry land. Frickin’ miracle,” she sighed happily. “I’ve got mold growin’ in my bits.”

“Thank you for that image,” Cassandra groaned. “You know, a bath would do you good.”

“Pssh. Got a bath. For the past nine days straight.”

“Herald! Letters for you.” Taking the bundle from the scout along with a succulent leg of roast ram, Aislinn made herself comfortable in the grass next to the crackling bonfire as the others changed and grabbed their own food. Food was what she missed most, she decided. Having a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, more than anything. This early in the year, and with the harshness of the past winter, there was little in the way of fresh anything. Besides meat. At least the meat was good.

Grimacing as she recognized Cullen’s neat script on the top envelope, she slipped it to the bottom of the pile in favor of reading Alistair’s letter first, hoping to delay the inevitable.

_Dearest Aislinn,_

_I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear you were alright. I had hoped to write sooner, but since the Breach opened, I’ve hardly had a second to myself with all the panic going on. Lochlan is doing as well as can be expected, I think he finds the swirling green vortex of doom in the sky more of a curiosity than anything else, which suits me just fine. He misses you greatly, and asks about you every day. Although I must boast that I am doing an admirable job at keeping him entertained and distracted. Our blanket forts have been a great success, except that night we played rampaging dragon and valiant knight and everything came down in a heap and we had to call for help to extract ourselves._

_I should tell you, many members of my court were not pleased to find out you’re a mage, or that I knew you were an apostate when I invited you here. And now, with you being called the Herald of Andraste and the Chantry’s denouncement of the Inquisition… Well. Let’s just say I put that proposal of me courting you on hold for now. Just until this whole thing settles. Perhaps after you seal the Breach, the nobles will see you once again in a favorable light._

_How are you dealing with everything? Is it true about the mark, that you can close rifts with it? I do hope you’re being careful, we both would rather you come back home in one piece. The idea of you running all over Ferelden, given its present state, keeps me up until the late hours of the night. I hope you have a good team with you at least. Tell Eremon he and the others can stay there with you, for the time being. I know you probably have your own fancy new Inquisition guards and such, but it would make me feel better, so, please._

_I miss you more than I can express. My arms and my bed seem so empty without you to fill them. Please be safe out there, and come back to me. I love you._

_With all my heart,_

_Alistair_

With a huge grin plastered to her face, Aislinn reread his tender words to her several times over, barely resisting the urge to squeal and fall over into the grass, kicking her legs around like some giddy teenager. She missed him and her son so much, it physically hurt. At least they were both safe where they were. And as long as she closed the Breach, they would remain so.

“A letter from the Commander?” Shaking her head, she frowned as she remembered Cullen’s letter, waiting for her next.

“No, from Alistair.” Cassandra eyes brightened at the mention of the king.

“Oh, was it romantic?” Startled by how soft the normally brusque Seeker’s voice was, Aislinn hummed an affirmative. “You love him very much.”

“I do,” she murmured. Carefully folding the thick parchment, she tucked it into her jacket pocket, where it would be safe nestled against her shirt. _Now for Cullen’s_. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it out and was surprised to find it completely professional, a crisp, boring detailing of the state of the Hinterlands after she left and a response to her last letter about the Blades of Hessarian, a mercenary band that now apparently answered to her that she found along the Storm Coast. No mention of anything personal. _Well, that’s good._

But why did she feel so… A familiar bubble of irritation that she had long since associated with Cullen stirred within her. _Ugh. This is what I wanted, right? I’m with Alistair now, and I love him. So Cullen backing off and being all businesslike is a good thing._

Why did it feel like she was trying to convince herself?

“So I suppose you haven’t given the idea of marrying the Commander any further thought,” the Seeker mused, picking the charred pieces of meat off her ram. 

“It’s impossible. I can’t marry someone when I love another,” Aislinn shook her head firmly. Then, in a gentler tone, she continued, “But I am sorry for any additional grief it causes you or the others.”

Cassandra shrugged. “It does not affect me or my job. Josephine will be the one bearing the brunt of the nobility’s ire, but as long as you do what we need you to do, and close the Breach, perhaps they will not care as much. Tell me,” she glanced over to where Aislinn sat, hugging her knees to her chest as she poked at the rest of her food. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

“I was not raised Andrastian, so no,” Aislinn stared up at the darkening sky, watching as the first stars winked into view. “I’m not sure what to think honestly. The Chantry says the Maker is gone, right? Makes sense, given all of this,” she cast her arm out in a wide, sweeping gesture. “Maybe he is real. But either way, I don’t think the Chantry has the right of it. People tend to muddle things and twist them to suit their own ends anyways, regardless of the religion.”

“Hmm. I can see that,” she conceded. “My own Order has gone in a direction I am not sure that the Maker would approve of, same with the templars. Everything is a mess now. It feels like the world has reached a tipping point.”

“If you ask me, it’s overdue,” Aislinn wiped her hands as she finished off the last bit of her supper. “Are you taking the first watch as usual?”

“I am. Should I wake you for the second?”

“If you would. We should be back in Haven by tomorrow, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes. And then a decision must be made.”

Aislinn groaned as she remembered. Her advisors were leaving the decision of which faction to approach for support up to her. Her. A nobody, who happened to get lost in the Temple of Sacred Ashes and had to be a busybody, sticking her nose where she shouldn’t have. Although, if she had ignored that cry for help, she’d be dead, so… Still. Just because she had the means to close the rifts did not mean she should get to decide the course of the entire Inquisition. No matter the fact that she would have to be the one to approach either the Grand Enchanter or the Lord Seeker. Her advisors were immensely more qualified for the task than she.

“You guys aren’t making this easy on me, are you?”

"Easy," Cassandra scoffed. "Nothing will ever be easy again, Herald."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the scene that started this fic. :)


	18. A New Vow

It was amazing what a bath could do for her mood, Aislinn mused as she ran a heat spell through her wet hair. All of the grit and grime from the last few weeks had finally been purged from her system, and she was utterly content to sit in her little cabin, wrapped in a thin towel, and soak up the heat from the fire in her small hearth. Humming under her breath, she made herself comfortable at her desk, not caring that her advisors wanted her in the war room ‘as soon as possible’. The end of the world could wait for a few more minutes.

_Dear Alistair,_

_Your letter made all the difference in my week, probably my entire month if I’m being honest. I’m so sorry I’ve created problems with your council. You should have told them that you didn’t know I was a mage, although I realize that you’re too honorable for that._

_How are Lochlan’s studies going? I hope he’s behaving for you. Forts and dragons sound very exciting, although he might like this- tell him I saw a dragon just last week. It was fighting a giant! Probably the most terrifying and awe-inspiring battle I’ve ever seen. I’m enclosing a dragon scale I found later that day along the beach for him, I thought he’d like it. I'll get another for you next time, don't pout._

_I’m doing okay, I suppose. The idea that I’m the Herald of Andraste is utterly ridiculous, and yet, so many believe I truly am. It’s rather disconcerting to think I’m a messenger sent by some holy figure of a religion I’m not even a part of. But it gives the people hope, at least. So that’s a good thing? I just feel the added weight of the pressure to not fail._

_I do have a good team with me. There’s the Seeker, who often accompanies me. She’s one of the fiercest warriors I think I will ever meet, and when I grow up, I want to be like her. There’s a Grey Warden, Blackwall, also that has joined us. Two mages, two rogues (including Varric, he told me to tell you hi), and a Qunari mercenary whose arm is as big as I am, I think. I’m well protected on the road, have no fear. Captain Eremon came with us on the first few missions, but after he saw how effective my companions were, elected to remain behind in Haven, as the Inquisition desperately needs experienced veterans to train the new recruits. He’s very grateful that you let him remain here. I think he’s sweet on one of the women in town. It’s adorable._

_One thing I should mention- Lochlan’s father is here, in Haven. I did not expect to see him here, of all places, but it is what it is. He knows about us, and wants to see Lochlan, but understands that it’s too dangerous to bring him here yet. So far, he’s been polite and courteous to me, so I’m hoping it stays that way._

_Oh, and do me a favor? The soldier that was with me, when the Conclave… you know. Find his family? Make sure they’re taken care of and that they know their son was a hero. And that he loved his little brother very much. He was such a sweet lad. I wish... There's been so much death so far. And now, I'm the cause behind it. I've managed so far by distancing myself, telling myself it's necessary, but I don't want to kill anymore. I don't think I'll ever get the smell of blood out of my mind. But I have to do this, right? I mean, I can't just sit there and let the bandits kill me, or whoever else decides to attack me._

_I miss you so much, too, Ali. Your laugh, your smile, your hugs and kisses- all of you. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get the support I need to close the Breach within the next few weeks, then I can return to Denerim, and you and Lochlan. I need my boys with me._

_Yours,  
Aislinn_

Throwing a bit of sand onto the wet ink, she pulled on a clean pair of leather breeches and a warm, woolen sweater before folding the letter up and grabbing her cloak. Despite the advent of spring, and the warmer weather down in the lowlands, it was still blistering cold this high in the Frostbacks. Snow and ice blanketed Haven, and by all accounts, it would remain well into the summer. Another reason to get this over with, so she could get out of these blasted mountains and back where weather made sense.

Nodding to a few people as she passed, Aislinn made her way into the dimly lit Chantry, pinching her nose to avoid sneezing at the heady incense that filled the air. She could hear their voices, low and insistent, even out here, through the thick, wooden door and stone walls. Bracing herself, she pushed the heavy door open.

Four faces, varying from scowling to impatient to exasperated, swung towards the entrance as she peeked in. “Ah, Herald,” Leliana nodded. “I trust you’re sufficiently rested?”

“Clean, at least,” Aislinn replied wryly, moving next to the sprawling map. “I don’t think I’ll ever be fully rested again.”

“It does seem that way,” Josephine’s smile was sweet and apologetic. “Unfortunately, there is yet more to do.”

“The templars are-”

“The _mages_ would be-”

Rubbing her forehead, Aislinn sighed, watching Sister Nightingale glare holes into the Commander, his lips curled up in what would probably be a permanent sneer. 

“Herald?”

Avoiding Cullen’s piercing eyes, she instead kept her gaze trained on the little drawing of Redcliffe, just to the south of Lake Calenhad. _Isn’t that where Alistair said he grew up?_ “We actually received an invitation to speak with the mages, didn’t we? From the Grand Enchanter? It would make sense if we went there first.”

“I must admit, I am curious as to what they want,” Cassandra mused.

“And it would take a good deal of time to gather the necessary nobles to safely approach the Lord Seeker,” Josephine added.

“We will regret this,” Cullen’s voice was deep and stilted, that vein in his temple twitching as it did when he was trying to restrain his temper.

“Add it to the fucking list.”

“What?”

Freezing, Aislinn realized she had mumbled that out loud, not in her head like she thought. But thankfully, she was far enough from him that he had not heard what she said clearly, judging by the confusion on his face. “Nothing,” she cleared her throat. “So, I’ll leave tomorrow morning? Cassandra, will you come? Vivienne, I think, since we’re going to see Circle mages. And Varric is always good at not offending people.”

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Her body slumped over the table as the advisors filed out of the room, scattering to do whatever it was they did all day. _Yell at recruits and shiv people, probably. Did I make the right decision? Should I have gone with the templars? To pour so much magic into the Breach, if it goes wrong-_ She couldn’t think like that. There were too many unknown variables, maybe the templars wouldn’t be able to suppress the magic to the necessary level. Maybe the Breach would explode and everybody would die. Maybe she’d be the one to die.

As if it sensed her dark turn of thoughts, the mark flared to life on her hand, sending a shockwave of white hot pain lancing through her body. Gritting her teeth against the sharp burn, Aislinn slowly pushed her mana into the jagged wound, her breaths steadying as the ache faded.

“Does it usually do that?” If she had anymore energy, she would have jumped at the sound of his voice.

Wearily, she shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly, it just sort of… sleeps. Only reacts when I’m near a rift.” His footsteps softly echoed off the stone as he drew closer to her, until she was hyper aware of his warmth, his breath mere inches from the back of her neck.

“Did you mean that?”

He had heard her. Dammit. It would probably be kinder in the long run to tell him yes, to cut off any hope he might still harbor that they would reconcile. But… she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to lie about this, not now, not ever. “I regret a lot of things in my life, Cullen. But you, nor Lochlan, have ever been one.”

His breath hitched, and she could feel his hands hovering over her waist, before drawing back abruptly. “...I’m glad. If you did, I’m not sure I could bear it.”

Gripping onto the edge of the table, Aislinn fought with her urge to turn around and fling herself into his arms. Hold him tight, drag his face down so she could kiss him again, to feel his solid warmth against her again. The need to hold him was overpowering. _But Alistair, Alistair_ , a traitorous voice in her head chanted. Alistair wasn’t Cullen. She loved him, but not like this. Her love for the king was tender and kind, a sweet, gentle song on a spring's day. Cullen was... a tempest of fire and lightning and ice, threatening to consume her, mind, body, and soul and leave her frozen and cold in its wake. Not that it mattered anymore.

Daring to risk a glance behind, she felt her heart stop. His dark, amber eyes were guarded as he stood at attention, one hand on his pommel in a stance that she remembered all too well. The stoic templar, guarding his mage charge. Except back then, his eyes had danced with the anticipation of the night to come. “Aislinn.” He took a step towards her, his lip twitching up as she made no move to evade him. 

“Cullen.” Biting the tip of one glove, he slid the supple leather off to free a hand, a dark smile crossing his face as he caressed her cheek, skin on skin. She really should step away. Make him stop. But oh, how she missed him. The clean smell of his soap and the oil of his armor and his musk enveloped her, and before she was aware of what was happening, her eyelids had drifted shut and she leaned into his palm.

Leaning down, his breath tickled her ear as he murmured, “You’re still belong to me, sweetling. Forever, you said, remember? I _will_ convince you to return to me, and once you do, I am never letting you out of my sight again, Linn. You and Lochlan are _mine_ , and I will not stop until both of you are back where you belong.”

Her mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping even though she desperately tried. Everything was too hazy, her mind fogging over with the sound of possessive lust in his voice, igniting a burning desire that thrummed through her veins. _No, no, no I can’t_ , she wanted to cry. But his bright stare held her in his thrall. “Tell your lover that his time with you is almost up,” he smirked. “He’ll have to be content with just the memory of you soon enough.”

Alistair, oh, sweet Alistair. At least- “He never lied to me. Hasn’t hurt me. How can you tell me you’ve changed? How can you tell me you won’t forget about us again?”  
His jaw clenched at the broken heartache in her voice. _This is what you did to her. This is your fault, Rutherford_ , he reminded himself. Perhaps he should leave her alone. Hadn’t he done enough to her? Maybe she was happier with the king, better off without him. Maybe he would be a better father to- No, he could fix this still. He _had_ to. “I’m going to prove it you,” Cullen murmured, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “Little by little. I am going to earn back your trust.”

Silently, she watched as he pulled his glove back on, and bowed to her, a sad smile on his lips, before slipping out of the war room. “I suppose we’ll see,” she murmured to the empty chamber. “Stranger things have happened.”

Like her, ending up here, in Thedas, being a mage- No, no, still couldn’t think about it. Too much going on. It was probably unhealthy, to suppress so much. Aislinn had a feeling that if she sat down, and actually sifted through her memories, that she would recall so much more than she was allowing herself to remember. But she didn't dare. In between learning to live here, figuring out her magic, hiding from the templars, raising her son, fleeing to a new country alone, trying to live as an apostate in court, and now all this- there had been no safe time. No, it would have to wait, until this was all over. Then she’d figure out what the hell happened. But for now, she had a job to do.

*** 

“Your Commander seems to be a highly capable, even tempered man. The former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, yes? However, he would do better to smile a bit more. It would do much to improve morale.”

Cassandra shrugged. “You don’t need to smile to be effective, and he’s very good at his job, as you noted, Madame de Fer.”

“Oh, I know, my dear,” Vivienne examined her perfectly manicured nails. “It was merely a suggestion. The Inquisition has an image to maintain, after all.”

Varric stroked his chin, and leaned over his saddlehorn. “He used to smile more, years ago. But he’s not the same anymore, not after, well. Hasn’t had much of a reason to smile lately, I suppose,” he studiously avoided the Seeker’s murderous glare, her chin jerking towards the Herald in front of them.

“Oh?” The Orlesian mage cocked her eyebrow up. "Do tell."

Aislinn kept her eyes firmly fixed between her horse’s ears. His smile. She had only seen it twice since arriving here, and there were shadows behind it now. The lighthearted grins of the past were long gone, replaced by the weight of her and Lochlan's absence. The fear he must have felt when he found them missing from Kirkwall, it had aged him. Briefly, she wondered if all the new wrinkles that marred his brow were because of her. Not that she could have prevented what had happened. _If only I had just written to Varric again…_ But the fact remained- he had waited a year to return.

At least she still believed that he was a good man; despite all the years of broken trust, she still knew his heart. And it was obvious that he was trying harder to let go of his prejudices and overcome his fears. Cullen had only told her a little of what had happened to him at Kinloch, but she could fill in the rest between what he left unsaid, what she had read in her books, and what Alistair had told her of Kinloch when he and Mahariel of Clan Sabrae had visited. After living through the horrors that Circle saw, it was no small wonder he distrusted mages so much. Which made their love all the more of a miracle. He loved her, a mage, even after everything he had lived through.

Uldred. Meredith. Now this. Clenching her hand, she felt a small fizzle of electricity tingle within her palm. She literally had a piece of unknown magic embedded into her body, and he still wanted her. Or could it be he merely sought to reclaim what what his? He did have a strong possessive streak, but was his desire to have her back merely just that? She had been his, and he wanted her back? Or did he still truly love her? Did it even matter anymore?

Rubbing her temples, she sent a quick pulse of magic through her aching head. It would not do to meet with the Grand Enchanter with a migraine debilitating her mind. Wincing as the mark on her hand flared to life, Aislinn squinted up the road. Just beyond the hillcrest, the gates of Redcliffe were visible, along with- “There’s a rift up ahead. Look sharp, everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna be like Cassandra when I grow up too.


	19. A Future and a Name

“You can’t mean to go back there!” Cullen fumed, slapping his palm with a sharp rap against the table. “It’s obviously a trap.”

“Obviously,” Aislinn muttered. “So what, then? I should just leave them be? Leave the mages in servitude to a Tevinter magister? Ignore the threat of this cult? And whatever the hell that time magic was?”

“The mages have made their bed. I say we let them lie in it.”

“Commander, we cannot leave a foreign power in the heart of Ferelden like this,” Cassandra shook her head. 

“Let the king deal with it,” he snarled. “That’s his job, isn’t it? Or is he so incapable of protecting Ferelden that we must do it for him?”

“Cullen,” Aislinn’s head snapped up. “ _Enough_. I am going back to Redcliffe. Now help me figure out a way to do it safely, or get out.”

Silence reigned throughout the war room, save the audible grinding of his teeth. “The castle itself is impenetrable,” he finally gritted out. “To launch a frontal attack would be suicide.”

Tapping a ragged fingernail against the smooth table, the Herald tried to recall Alistair’s tale of Connor, and the demon that had the boy enthralled. Something about- “The windmill. Leliana, you were there, with the Hero of Ferelden, weren’t you?”

The spymaster nodded slowly, a smile spreading across her face. “Indeed I was. The windmill was destroyed during the darkspawn attack, but the secret entrance might still be there.”

“We use that, then,” Aislinn replied decisively. “I will distract Alexius while you get your people into position, buy them enough time.”

“It will be risky,” Cassandra eyed the healer. “Are you sure?”

Heaving a sigh, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the headache he could feel brewing, while trying to regain his professionalism. “It’s your life on the line, Herald. We cannot, in good conscience, order you to do this.”

“I know. Dorian said he’d help me, right?”

A dark haired, tanned man leaned casually against the bookshelf off to the side, his head cocked and smiling at her, ignoring the Commander’s death glares and scowls. “Of course, my dear. I can get us past Alexius’ wards.”

“Alright,” Leliana rested her palms on the table and leaned her weight over. “Here’s my idea.”

***

Hours, the meeting dragged on, until every minute detail was hammered solidly into place. And pretty much, everything hinged on Aislinn and Dorian getting Alexius to talk long enough to get the scouts through the secret passage, across the lake, and into the castle. This had better work, she groaned internally, flopping across her bed. Flicking her wrists, she watched as the flames in her hearth swelled, sending a wave of heat rushing across the floor to chase away the chill in her bones. At least Redcliffe was warmer than here. The snow had already melted throughout the lowlands, a sign that spring was well on its way to Ferelden.

Wearily, she stripped off her armor and her underclothes, fumbling around in her chest for her sleeping shift when she heard a tentative knock at the door. Pulling on the thin cotton tunic, she bade the person enter as she pulled her braid loose, running a comb through the dark strands. As the sound of armor clanked against the wooden floor, Aislin warily glanced up. “Cullen.”

“I, um-” he shifted nervously from foot to foot. “May I come in?” At her hesitant nod, he stepped just far enough inside her cabin to where he could close the door, his posture rigid as he watched her pull a blanket around her shoulders. For a minute, he could just make out the shadowy peaks of her nipples, straining from the cold against her shift. The taste of her skin was just beyond the edge of his senses, the sounds of her moans echoing in his dreams at night. What he wouldn’t give to have her back in his arms again. And she was close, so close. He flushed at the thought. 

“Did you need something, Commander?”

Her gentle, yet formal tone grounded him back to the present. “Ah, yes. I just… Are you sure you want to go through with this, Aislinn?”

“Cullen,” she sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. “I’m going. I can’t leave the situation like that. Something is going on, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“You always were so stubborn,” he chuckled wryly.

Her eyebrow arched up. “You’re one to talk.”

“I know. Maker’s breath, I don’t think I’ve apologized to you yet, have I?”

“For what?”

He felt his breath hitch as she gazed up at him, the firelight shining within her dark eyes. Those eyes, how they haunted him. As she pleaded with him, begged him to send her and Lochlan somewhere safe. How he had dismissed her concerns, and strode away without a care in the world. Meanwhile, leaving her alone with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. “For not taking your warnings more seriously. If I had, if I had sent you away, to my sister, or somewhere else safe, none of this would have ever have happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you, Linn. I should have run with you when you asked me to.” It would be his eternal regret. His fear, his dependence on lyrium, his Maker forsaken duty that had kept him from her. Never again.

Staring at the floor, she shrugged. “It’s in the past. Can’t change it, so no point in going back to revisit it. I don’t blame you though, for what happened. Well, not as much these days, at least.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her brutal honesty. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“We’ll see. Now, if you don’t mind Commander, I’m leaving early tomorrow and need my sleep.”

“Of course, my apologies, Herald.” Backing up to the door, he paused with his hand on the knob. “Be careful, Aislinn. Please.”

She smiled up at him, sweet and slightly mischievous. “Aren’t I always?”

***

Her scream cut off mid-breath as the portal swallowed her whole, dragging her down, down, down. When she came to, it was in thigh deep water, her head pounding and her armor and clothes soaked. It was all too reminiscent of that night she woke up on the beach, confusion muddling her brain, her body wet and cold. “I’ve really got to stop waking up like this,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Dorian,” she threw herself at the other mage. “Thank the Maker you’re here, too.”

“Yes, well, tagging along through unknown portals is a hobby of mine, didn’t I tell you that?” Chuckling dryly, he eyed the red lyrium shards that were haphazardly growing out of the walls. “Fascinating. This is still Redcliffe Castle, but… I think we’re in the future.”

“The future?” Aislinn stared at the pulsing growths, glowing that eerie, unsettling red. She swore she could even hear them, humming disconcordantly at the back of her mind. “That fucking piece of shit- I will _crush_ him when we get back. How far? Can we even get back?”

“Who knew the Herald such a mouth on her?” Dorian's smirk was dark and bleak. “I’m not sure. The pendant Alexius used- if it’s still here, we need to find it. I may be able to get us back.”

“May,” she barked a brittle laugh. “Alright. Let’s find out where the hell we are. Or when, I suppose.”

Whatever she had been expecting to see, this was not it. The entire castle, covered in jagged shards of the red lyrium crystals, bathing the dim stone corridors in a unearthly crimson light. Fiona, red lyrium actually growing out of her body. Her companions, Varric, Cassandra, Vivienne, all in different stages of corruption, their eyes electric red, their spirits, gone. Leliana, her body veritably destroyed, but still somehow unbroken. A whole year. This is how much everything had changed after just one year.

“We thought you were dead, Storm,” Varric’s hand clenched around her arm, as if he were trying to convince himself she was really there with him. “We thought-”

“I’m so sorry,” Aislinn fought back her tears. “I’m so, so sorry. We’re going to fix this. I promise you all. Tell me what happened after I left.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Rounding on Dorian, her eyes flashed with silver electricity. “I have to know. I have to know what’s coming, so I can stop it. This future can never be allowed to come to pass.”

“Orlais fell to the Elder One after the empress was assassinated. And then an army of demons swept through the rest of Thedas,” Cassandra muttered, her back turned to Aislinn as she searched through a chest of weapons.

“Cullen? Where is he?” she whispered, fearing the answer before remembering another name. “And Alistair? Did the king’s army not fight back?”

“When the king heard of your disappearance, he stormed Redcliffe. Along with the Commander,” Leliana examined the arrows in the quiver she found, testing the tips with a rough finger. “If you care to go outside, you’ll see both of their heads, mounted on pikes just outside the keep.” Varric scowled at her blunt words.

Dead. Both dead, because of her. Cullen… It was all too easy to picture him, desperation painting his handsome face, riding alongside Alistair in some vain attempt to bring her back. Both of them, falling in defeat. All of Thedas, under this Elder One’s rule. Her son, her baby boy- she almost hoped he was dead in this version of the world. _God, he must be so scared. Lochlan, I’m so sorry darling. I won’t ever let this be your future._

“Alexius,” she croaked, stubbornly refusing to allow herself to cry. Not yet. This wasn’t the time nor place. “Is he here?”

“He is.”

“We have to get back. Find that pendant. I swear to you all, I will do everything to change this future.”

“Good,” Leliana nodded curtly.

It was in grim silence that the group made their way through the crumbling halls, huge sections of wall smashed through, by catapult or demon or Breach, she had no way of knowing. Everything was bathed in red, from the flickering torchlights that gave off no heat and the red lyrium. God, it was everywhere. Aislinne was convinced all her nightmares from here on out would be tinged with the color. The only sounds she heard was of the Breach, swirling violently throughout the sky above, and the shuffling and low mutters of the Venatori that roamed the castle.

This desolate hellscape, this was somehow the same world she had just been in scant hours earlier. The bright yellow sun shining in a clear blue sky. Trees with the first buds of spring, the pale green of new leaves dotted the bare branches. Now, when she looked up, all she saw was death. Cullen. Clenching her fist, she put the image of his severed head out of her mind. He would never meet that fate. Her son would grow up happy and healthy, and die somewhere far into the future of old age, peaceful in his own bed, surrounded by his family. She refused to accept any other end for him.

Flinging the heavy double doors open, Aislinn’s eyes narrowed as she took in the familiar sight of the Tevinter magister she had so recently seen. “Alexius,” she growled, sparks flying out from where her staff hit the ground. “You. Fucking. _Bastard_.”

“Ah,” weary eyes rose to meet hers. “I had wondered if I would see you again, Herald. The Elder One was always convinced you would come back to him. I should have known he is always correct.”

“Come back to him?” Vivienne cocked her head at the man. “What do you mean?”

Crossing his arms, Alexius gazed impassively down at the group, riddled with the scars of the last year. “Tell me, Herald. Does the name Aella mean anything to you?”

Aislinn frowned. “No, it-” _Wait. Why does it sound familiar? I’ve never heard that name before in my life, and yet_ … “No,” she cleared her throat. “It does not.”

“No matter,” he shrugged, twirling his staff in his hands. “The Elder One remembers, and wishes to see you again.”

“Again?” Leliana’s eyes were sharp as they flickered from the magister to the Herald and back.

“The pendant,” Dorian interrupted. “Alexius, you can’t have meant for all this to happen. Look at this place! At the world! Help us fix this. Give us the pendant, and let us go back.”

Alexius smiled sadly down at his former protegé. “It’s true, I did not realize the extent of what would happen. But it’s too late, Dorian. I’m sorry. The Herald must be brought to the Elder One. And you, my dear boy, must not be allowed to leave here.”

“We’ll just take the pendant off your corpse, then,” Aislinn snarled, snapping her mana around her in a vortex of gravity and lightning as she watched yet another rift be torn into the space in front of her. This time, she was ready. _Who the hell is Aella?_

***

She was still shaking as the Inquisition scouts led Alexius away, bound and defeated and resigned to his fate. Desperately, she soaked in her companions’ curious faces, whole and healthy and gloriously untainted still. Turning to the Herald, Cassandra took in Aislinn’s and Dorian’s disheveled state, their robes torn and stained, a few fresh scars marring their arms and faces. 

“You were only gone a couple seconds,” she frowned. “What happened?”

“You- Everyone-” Aislinn choked on her words, feeling Dorian rub soothing circles into her back. The panic and adrenaline and God awful pain were still flooding her system. She had just watched all of them die, one by one, giving her and Dorian enough time to escape. To come back here, to prevent that world from ever seeing daylight. And here there were. Alive. Worried. Wanting to know what the hell was going on, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t-

“Easy, now,” he murmured. “There will be time for all that later.” Nodding, she leaned on him for support, eyes narrowing at the sight of armored men marching into the hall, bearing the sigil of-

“Alistair,” she breathed. Sure enough, the king entered the vast chamber moments later, his brow furrowed, crown set firmly across his head, mouth twisted into displeasure. Until he saw her. “Alistair!” Stumbling away from her companions, not caring a whit as to what people would say, she flung herself across the smooth stones into his arms, all of her emotions releasing at once in gulping sobs, her body trembling with the sheer magnitude of the day.

“Aislinn,” he clutched her tightly to his chest. “What’s wrong, love? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?!” Unable to pull her back enough to examine her, Alistair settled for stroking her hair and glaring at the rest of the people assembled. “What is going on?” he demanded in his most imperious voice. “Fiona.”

“Your Majesty! I…” Wringing her hands, the slight elven Grand Enchanted approached.

“Stop,” he growled. “I will deal with you later. Aislinn, come on love, let’s get you out of here.” Alistair tried to tug on her to get her to move, but soon found she refused to budge from the safe enclosure of his arms. Shrugging to himself, he bent over and scooped her into his arms, hearing a few murmurs and gasps from behind as he gently tucked her against his chest. Briskly, he took a familiar side corridor and pushed open a door into a small sitting room and settled himself on the couch, Aislinn still clinging to his neck as if he were a life raft and she were adrift at sea. “I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled her hair. “You’ve been fighting?”

It took several more breaths, deep lungfuls of air, before she was steady enough to talk. “I saw the future, Ali. Time magic. It sent me into the future, by a year. With my death, everything was… gone. The Inquisition. Orlais. Ferelden. And you, you were-” She couldn’t even say it. The guilt was almost overwhelming. It hadn’t been Alistair she mourned the most in that distant future. It hadn’t been Alistair’s death that had torn her apart. But it wasn’t real, right? He was here now, and she was alive, and so was…

“I’m fine, love,” he kissed her head. “You came back, right? So that future won’t come to pass. Maker, I wish I could take you away from here. Protect you like I should.”

“I’m the only one who can close the rifts,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, breathing in the spicy scent of him. Cinnamon and almonds. Not elderflower and sandalwood. “I have to stay and help.”

“I know you do,” he sighed. “It’s why I love you.” Shifting her slightly in his arms, he smiled tenderly down at her, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “So why is the Inquisition here, anyways?”

“Need the mages to help close the stupid Breach. Could have asked the templars, but the Lord Seeker is a butt face and a jerk,” she glowered at her mark. “But Fiona sold the mages to the Venatori, who apparently are working for someone called the Elder One.”

“And kicked my uncle out of his own home,” Alistair remarked dryly. “Let me guess. Another power crazed magister? They always pick the silliest names. The Elder One! Supreme Leader! God of Darkness! Ruler of Despair!”

Snorting, she reached a hand up to trace the crinkles around his eyes as he grinned down at her. “Mm. Seems like it. But he is powerful, from what I can tell. In the future, if I don’t close the Breach… It swallows the world, Ali,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have to close it. No matter what.”

“Aislinn.” Sitting up, her hands trapped within his, his expression turned serious. “Could this kill you?”

“I…” To be honest, she hadn’t even considered it. Closing the Breach was just something she had to do, regardless of the consequences. But it was possible, wasn’t it? Even probable? Just stabilizing it had knocked her out for three days. This time, however, she would have additional power. Support. But if there was one thing she learned from being on Thedas, was that life was never guaranteed. “Alistair. Will you keep Lochlan safe for me? Until this is all over. His father, I’m assuming, will eventually want him back, but if you’d like, I can ask him to share custody with you. I know Lochlan loves you, and honestly, you’re the only father he really knows.”

“Maker,” he spoke reverently, in hushed whispers, shaking his head as if to deny the possibility. “I love him, too. Of course, I’ll protect him like he was my own. You mentioned his father is at Haven?” She nodded mutely. “I bet that meeting was awkward. Does he-” Alistair licked his suddenly dry lips. “Does he want you back?” She nodded again. “And you, do you…?”

“Ali,” throwing a leg over his hips, she straddled him and cupped his face between her hands. “I love you. And I’m with you, okay? Whatever happens. I choose you.” His face lit up at her words, his arms rising to grip her waist.

“It seems too good to be true,” he admitted. “But I’m not questioning it.” As their lips met in a slow, unhurried kiss, she tried to squash that niggling little voice at the back of her head, chanting in an annoying sing-song voice, _this is wrong, this is wrong, liar liar_. “As much as I want to continue this,” he groaned, feeling her teeth nipping at his bottom lip, “I think we need to get back out there.”

With great effort, Aislinn pulled herself away from his warmth, smoothing his hair back into place, and picking up his crown from where he had tossed it earlier beside him, placing it back on his head. “Your Majesty.” Her heart fluttered as he gave her his familiar, lopsided smile. “I love you.”

“And I you. Oh, by the way, what is Lochlan’s father’s name? Just in case, for future reference.” He wouldn’t say, in case she died. That possibility wasn’t an option for him. But he was a king. Dealing in unpleasant realities was his job, wasn’t it? 

Frowning to herself as she rebraided her hair, now almost down to her waist, she heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The Commander, Cullen Rutherford.”

“Rutherford?!” Alistair gaped at her. Of all the people in Thedas…

“You know him?”

“Ah, yes. We were recruits together, in templar training. I don’t think he ever liked me much,” he grimaced. “He was always so serious, and I was, well, me. And I saw him at Kinloch. Did he ever tell you about…?”

“He mentioned it briefly, but I inferred the rest between what you told me and what I read. He’s a good man, despite the shit he’s lived through. Terrible in a relationship, but he loves Lochlan. And he’s trying to be better. Be nice? For me?”

Groaning, he sullenly nodded. “Only for you. Heh. I guess that’s where Loch gets his curls from.”

“Definitely isn’t from me,” she shrugged. “Come on, I need my mages.”

“And I need to yell at someone.”


	20. Preparations

None of the advisors were particularly pleased that she had offered the mages a full alliance, but Aislinn was past the point of caring. She hadn’t wanted the resentment from conscripting them to fester, like she had a feeling it would, even though they deserved it. Standing with her arms crossed on one side of the massive oak table, she watched as Cullen simmered with barely checked rage at the idea of Haven being overrun with the mages who were irresponsible enough to sell themselves to Tevinter.

“What’s done is done,” she finally snapped. “So get over it.” Startled eyes snapped up to hers. Aislinn had spoke firmly before, but never harshly. Never with such anger and venom in her voice.

“Herald,” Cassandra tentatively spoke, “What happened when you went through the portal? You were only gone for mere seconds, and yet, I think you experienced time differently.”

“Hours,” she muttered. “Maybe even a lifetime. Dorian, will you…” The altus nodded at her gesture.

“We were sent a year into the future,” he explained. “Without the Herald to close the Breach, it was close to swallowing the world. Orlais had fallen after Empress Celene was assassinated, and an army of demons finished off the rest. Ferelden was defeated. The Inquisition as well. You all,” he swallowed. “Dead.”

“You were kept prisoner, and corrupted by red lyrium,” Aislinn stared at Cassandra, focusing on the warm brown of her eyes, not red. “And you,” she glanced to Leliana, her skin still smooth and unblemished, “Were tortured, and experimented upon. You both died, to give us time to escape.”

“And me?” She heard Cullen’s quiet voice from across the room as if he were standing right beside her.

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Y-you stormed the castle after I disappeared. Your head,” voice breaking, she gripped the edge of the table hard, until her knuckles turned white. “Mounted on a pike outside.”

“Aislinn…”

“Don’t,” she replied bitterly. “I’ve seen the future. I will _not_ let it become reality. The mages are here. They will help me close the Breach. That is all that matters right now.”

“An assassination,” Josephine scribbled away furiously on her board. “And an army of demons?”

“Tasks for later,” Leliana nodded. “For now, we have what we need to close the Breach.”

“Tomorrow,” Aislinn said.

“Tomorrow,” Cassandra agreed.

“If you don’t need me anymore, I’d like to bathe, please. And eat,” glancing around at their murmured assurances, she turned on her heel and crisply stomped out.

“She’s changing,” Leliana mused as she watched the Herald storm out.

“Seeing the future affected her a lot more than she’s letting on, I believe,” shaking her head, Cassandra stared at the map. “I can’t even imagine what she endured there. But perhaps this change is good. We need her to be strong for what lies ahead.”

“Strong, but not brittle. I worry about her,” Josephine sighed wistfully. “Is it too much for her? What else can we do to aid her?”

Wordlessly, Cullen stared vacantly into space, barely listening as the other women tossed ideas around. His death did not concern him overmuch, as he always expected to die in battle one day, but… It was obvious she had been upset by the idea. And Lochlan, where was he in this bleak world? What would he do, if she did die? Would he really have done something so reckless as to storm a castle no army had breached for centuries?

...Yes, he would. If there was a chance he could save her, he would do anything. And if there was no chance, he would avenge her death the best he could. Maker’s breath, what if she died tomorrow? What would he do? 

Suddenly, he was overcome with the strong desire to run to her, grab her up in his arms, and take her away somewhere safe. Hide her and Lochlan from all of this. Selfish, really. The world needed her as much as he did, if not more. From her time in the future, that much was clear- if she was not here, Thedas would fall. Maker, why hadn’t he run with her when she asked?

The day seemed to drag on as messengers poured in and out of his tent. There were final drills to run, mages to get settled, and so few templars to oversee their training. Not to watch over them, he reminded himself. But there, just in case. He could feel their magic floating in the air, grating on his nerves, almost like being back in the Circle again. Except here they were free. Unchecked. Uncontrolled. _No, no. That is not you anymore. You know better, Rutherford. Mages are people, you do not leash them like the Qunari do. That is not who you are. How many were just like Aislinn? Kind, gentle, just wishing to live their lives? She had not asked for her magic. Not grasped for power. All she wanted was to be left in peace. So do these others._

When night finally descended over Haven, and the last runner had exited his tent, Cullen released a heavy groan, glaring at the pile of reports that still needed his attention. But it could all wait. There was something else he had to do first.

Pushing his way through the trampled snow, he frowned when he found her cabin dark and cold. Turning away, he caught a glimpse of Varric, in the midst of some highly exaggerated tale of Hawke, no doubt, surrounded by several of the younger mages. Children, he realized, all eagerly hanging on to the dwarf's every word. Catching the rogue’s eye, Cullen nodded in thanks as Varric motioned to the frozen lake, just beyond the gates.

She was so small like this, standing by the shore, her arms wrapped tightly around herself to ward off the chill and darkness. Her head was tilted back, staring intently at the swirling emerald green of the Breach overhead, profile silhouetted against the moons. Feeling his breath hitch in his chest at the sight, he stopped a few paces away, content to just drink in the sight of her.

The time away from Kirkwall had been kind to her, but the weeks on the road had not. He could see it in the tightly drawn lines of her face, the harshness of her frame. Where her face and figure had once been soft and lush, it was angled and muscled now. Scarred as well, probably. Not that he cared. Maker knew he had enough of his own, and she always seemed to like them before. Would she still?

Glancing down at her shoulders, he noticed the slight trembling to her body, from the cold, he realized. She never did like winter much. Sweeping his fur mantle off his shoulders, he tentatively approached her from the side, and dropped it over her. “I’m sorry,” he sighed as he watched her fingers curl into the soft cloak. “For yelling at you earlier. I swore to not be the templar anymore, and here I am, still in the same mindset.”

Her head shook almost imperceptibly. “I should have realized, what kind of an effect having that many mages roaming around Haven would have on you. I’m sorry, too.” Tilting her head, she finally glanced his way. “I saw Alistair yesterday.” A pressure, like a druffalo was suddenly standing on his chest, blanketed his lungs. “If something happens to me tomorrow, or any other day really, because apparently war is my life now,” she snorted, “Promise me. Promise me you’ll keep fighting. Don’t throw your life away on some fool’s errand to avenge me. And then, when this is all over, take Lochlan somewhere peaceful and safe, deep in the country. And get him a dog. He loves the mabari at the palace. Alistair will bring him to you whenever it’s safe.”

“I…” He wanted to beg her to not talk like that, silence her morbid words with a kiss. But his practical nature won out, as it almost always did. “Of course. I wouldn’t mind a mabari myself.”

“And do me a favor? Don’t keep him from Alistair. I understand you’re his father, but… so is he,” she whispered. “Lochlan deserves all the love he can get.”

Aislinn wanted him to share his son with her lover? Alistair Theirin, of all people? That immature, stupid lad who was content to live his life letting other people control him? The... Grey Warden who had saved them all. His king. And who was he to talk about being controlled? After what he had allowed under Meredith's rule. Clenching his fists by his side, he nodded stiffly. “It will be as you wish.”

Closing her eyes, she sagged in place. “Thank you.”

“But you’re not going anywhere, Linn.” Taking another step closer to her, he gazed down into her eyes, frowning as he noticed for the first time flecks of grayish silver scattered through her irises, reflecting the Breach above. Like when the sun shone from behind storm clouds.

“What?”

“Your eyes, they’ve… changed,” he murmured. “They have silver in them now.”

“Really? Huh. I haven’t really looked at myself closely in a mirror recently. I wonder if it’s a side effect from the explosion? Or the mark?” Holding her hand up, she covered the tear in the sky with her palm. “At least they’re not boring brown anymore.”

“I always loved your eyes,” he huffed indignantly. “And they weren’t just brown. They’re the color of the woods at night, of silence and peace and-” Breaking off, he blushed, rubbing his neck as he realized how much he had let slip out. A tiny smile crept across her face. “Anyways,” he muttered. “What are you doing out here anyways? You should be resting.”

She didn’t respond for several minutes. Instead, she stared up into the sky, watching the stars blink in and out, tracing the contours of the moons, watching the serpentstone haze as it undulated across the sky. Then, “Does the name Aella mean anything to you?”

“Aella?” Perplexed by her question, Cullen slowly shook his head. “No. Should it?”

“I don’t know. I could have sworn I’ve never heard the name before Alexius said it, but-” she bit her bottom lip. “In the future. He said that the Elder One remembers, and that wants to see me again. That he knew I would come back again. What does that mean, Cullen? Do I know who this Elder One is? If I actually try to regain my memory, what will I find? Some Venatori mage cultist? What if I’m one of them?” Her eyes were haunted as she stared up at him, begging him for answers that he did not have. Wrapping his hands around her shaking fingers, he shook his head.

“Would you go back to them if you were?”

“No!”

“Then, does it matter? You’re here now. And you’re fighting for us, for Lochlan, and me, and the rest of Thedas. Who you were before you lost your memory doesn’t matter, Linn. It’s what you do from here on out.”

“Irony. The definition- you of all people telling me that,” she replied wryly.

“Yes, ah, well,” he shrugged. “I’m still working on it. Maybe after this is all over, and we get some downtime, you could sit down and try to regain some of your memories? If you did have some sort of connection to the Venatori, it might prove useful in determining their reasons.”

Slowly, she nodded, and exhaled. “Alright. I’ll do that.” His lips curled up in a half smile, the scar tugging it crooked. 

“It’s getting late,” he realized he still had her hands in his. And that she was making no move to pull away. Raising them to his mouth, he pressed a soft kiss to her gloved hands. “You should sleep.”

Bitterly, she laughed. “I don’t know if that’s going to be possible tonight.”

“Try? For me?” Releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when she nodded, he finally consented to release her fingers. “I’ll leave you be then. Aislinn.” He took one step closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cold cheek. “You’ll do fine tomorrow. And you’re going to come back here, safe and sound. I won’t have it any other way.”

“Is that an order, Commander?” He couldn’t help the grin or the joy he felt at her familiar teasing tone.

“If you’d like it to be. I rather thought it was a request,” he replied with feigned indifference.

“Alright. I’ll try my best,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

The words ‘anytime’ caught in his throat. It was too soon to be making promises to her, not yet. Instead, he offered her his best courtly bow. “My pleasure, my lady Herald.”

Aislinn watched him go, his armor glinting in the moonlight and belatedly, she realized she still had his mantle. _Oh well. It is warm. And I am cold. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Aella. Aella. Aella. Who are you?_ She knew it didn’t make sense that she was a former Venatori. Her memories were at least clear on that; she wasn’t from Thedas. _Earth_ , she mused. Aislinn Kojima. I was born… well I’m not sure. Spring, maybe? I remember a beach nearby my house. Clear, blue green water. White sand. Metal carriages, no, cars. And… airplanes! Electricity. I’m not from Thedas. I’m not a Venatori. Then what the hell did Alexius mean by see him again?

The night held no answers for her. With a final, lingering glance towards the Breach, Aislinn disappeared back into Haven to find whatever rest she could before the morning dawned.

*** 

She lost count of how many people had shook or kissed her hand since arriving back in Haven. Everywhere she turned, another smiling, grateful face greeted her, from the laborers to the soldiers to the nobles. And all she wanted to do was go curl up in her bed, and sleep for the next two days. But this wasn’t about her, right? The people needed her out here, to assure themselves that the sky had really been mended.

“How you doing, Storm?” Sinking to the low wall next to where Varric stood, she whimpered slightly.

“Tired. But happy. We did it. We really did it.”

“I think you did most of the work,” Cassandra came up beside her.

“No,” Aislinn shook her head. “All I did was hold up my hand. Without everyone else, this would have been impossible.”

A slow smile spread across the Seeker’s face, her normally brusque manner softening as she took in the Herald’s modesty. “Perhaps.”

“So what happens now?”

Leliana silently approached the trio, her hands clasped behind her back. “Now, we find out who this Elder One is. And what he wants. Will you stay with us, Herald?”

“Only if you stop calling me Herald,” Aislinn shook her head ruefully. “And yes, I will. Would it be possible for me to go back to Denerim for a week or two? I don’t think it’s quite safe enough to bring my son here, but I would like to see him. Just for a bit.”

“Is it just your son you miss,” the former bard teased in her lilting Orlesian accent. “Or perhaps a certain cheese loving Warden as well?” Her blush was all the answer Leliana needed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Oh, Sister Nightingale,” she called out as the redhead moved away. “Does the name Aella mean anything to you?”

“I’m afraid not. Why?”

“No reason,” Aislinn sighed.

“Aella?” Varric stroked his chin. “The way you say it… Not Ella?”

“No, Aella,” she emphasized the middle syllable, pronouncing it more like ‘Ayella’.

“Sounds Tevinterish,” he mused. “Why are you asking? Someone you know?”

“I don’t know. I heard the name, and it just sounds familiar. I can’t put my finger on it,” frustrated, she kicked a rock into the bonfire. “It’s at the tip of my tongue, and I just can’t figure it out.”

“It’ll come to you, Storm,” he patted her arm reassuringly.

Suddenly, the chantry bells rang out through the village, their raucous tone vibrating through her skull. “What the-”

“An army approaching! To arms!”

“Under what banner?” she heard Cullen demand.

“None, ser.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay-EL-la is the closest I can write out the pronunciation.


	21. Memories

Aislinn was numb. There was a dragon, a _dragon_ , of all things out there. She couldn’t die here, not now, not with that thing out there, rampaging and free. Desperately, she wracked her brain for a way to kill it. Magic? Spears? Harpoons? Did they even have harpoons here? If she poured all of her mana into one, single spell, would it be enough? What if she missed? What if its scales were too tough for her to penetrate? What if it was an archdemon, like the people were whispering around her? Blackwall was their only Grey Warden. Would the two of them be enough to take it down?

So caught up was she in her own spiral of defeat that she barely heard Cullen’s words, “...how spitefully we end it.”

 _We’re all dying here? Just like that?_ Her eyes locked with his across the room. “Bury Haven? There has to be another way,” Dorian scoffed. “For a templar, you’re thinking an awful lot like a blood mage.”

“The chancellor has something he wants to say,” the strange, pale boy who had alerted them to the approaching army called out.

A path. A secret path. They could get the people out, but they would need time. A distraction. She stared down at her hand. The Elder One wanted her, did he? Then that was what he would get. “Cullen, get the people out. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“Linn,” he paled under the firelight. “You can’t-”

“I have to, Cullen,” she murmured. “You know I do.”

He swallowed, over and over again, yet the painful lump in his throat would not dissipate. He had lost her before- was he just doomed to live without her? To lose her once more, when he was here, when he could do something to prevent it? Something. But what? What could he do now? _Not a damn thing_ , he realized with crushing sorrow. “Perhaps you will surprise him,” he whispered.

Smiling up at him, she pressed a metal circle into his hand, warmed by her skin. “Remember your promise, Cullen. Tell Lochlan I love him.”

Not daring to trust his voice, he nodded, watching her stomp toward the double doors only to be stopped by Cassandra. “You didn’t think you were going alone, did you?” she smirked.

“Can’t hog all the fun, Storm,” Varric shouldered Bianca with a wink.

“Fun,” Dorian snorted, tapping his staff against his calf. “Is that what this is?”

“Guys, you don’t-”

“‘Course we don’t. But we’re going to anyways.” Aislinn felt tears behind her eyes as she squeezed the dwarf’s shoulder affectionately. 

“Alright, let’s go.”

Cullen waited until he was the only person left in the Chantry before he finally dared to see what she had given him. And instantly, he felt all the blood drain from his face, leaving him faint and dizzy and his heart, hammering in his chest. It was a hammered silverite cloak brooch, decorated with crystal grace blooms. He could see her radiant face even now, gasping as she stared at it for the first time. How she loved this brooch. And she still had it, even after all this time? Did that mean...?

Tucking it into his pocket, beneath his breastplate, he heard the faint clink of the metal as it bumped against the wooden chess piece already inside. A queen, intricately carved, save for a smiley face where the face should have been. “Come back to me,” he whispered into the darkness.

“Commander, that’s the last of everyone!”

Time to keep his promise. “Excellent. Let’s move out.”

*** 

She lost track of how many templars she killed. People. Men and women. Or were they even human anymore? It was hard to tell, beneath the armor and red lyrium that sheathed their bodies. Never before had she been this tired, this exhausted, save for that time she had battled the neverending stream of demons the night the Gallows fell perhaps. A bone-deep weariness settled into her muscles, each swing, each spell coming slower than the last. Aislinn knew, if she stopped, she would collapse. But the signal hadn’t come yet. She had to keep going, or they were lost. Cullen would die. And that was something she would not have on her head. _I will not orphan my son_ , she determined. And so she kept fighting.

“Just a little more,” she heard Dorian grunt from the trebuchet crank. “There! It’s set.”

“Dragon incoming!”

“RUN!” 

Whipping around, she tried to avoid the path of the fire that was burning through the bloody snow, but she stumbled from her exhaustion. And watched helplessly as debris clattered to the ground in front of her, blocking her escape. Gritting her teeth, she spun her staff in her hand and lunged for a lyrium potion she saw peeking out from under a broken crate. Never before had she drank the stuff, but now? It didn’t matter. She was going to die. And by all that was holy in this world and hers, she was going to take that thing down with her.

But instead of fire or claws or razor sharp teeth racing toward her, she saw the decaying dragon settle lightly on the ground a hundred paces away. And a man. Or a monster, rather, who descended from its back.

“Herald of Andraste,” he intoned, “Ironic, isn’t it, Aella? I knew we would meet again. I’ve been looking for you, old friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Aislinn spat. “And my name is Aislinn.”

“Names change, but spirits do not,” he grinned at her. “Must we always fight like this? Imagine it, your power combined with mine. You could be a god along with me. Corypheus and Aella, just like it was once, long ago.”

“You’re lying!”

His laugh boomed out above the crackling fires surrounding them. “I do not lie. Look within yourself, if you must. But first, you have something that belongs to me.”

She was frozen by her terror, unable to scramble away as the ten foot tall twisted creature held out a glowing orb, bristling with red energy, and grabbed her mark in its thrall. Falling to her knees, she clenched her teeth against the pain, feeling as if her arm was being torn off, nerve by nerve. “What do you want with it?”

Stalking over to her, he snatched up her wrist and glared down at her limp figure. “I crafted this to assault the very heavens. Do you remember what we found there? Chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. And an empty throne. For a thousand years, I was confused, but now, I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own.”

“You’re mad,” she gasped.

The thing called Corypheus snarled, and flung her body across the dirt, slamming her into the trebuchet. “The Anchor is permanent. You have taken yet another thing from me, Aella. No matter, I will begin again. I will not offer this to you again. Join me, or perish in my wake.”

Aislinn snatched up a sword she saw laying nearby her feet, just as she glimpsed a fiery arrow, high up in the mountain range, sparkling against the midnight sky. “I don’t know who this Aella is, or why the fuck she would ever join your insanity, but I am not her. And I will never be a part of what you plan. Every step the way, I will be there to stop you. Just as I always have, just as I always will. Do not test me again, Corypheus!” Throwing her foot against the lever, he stopped mid-roar as his eyes followed the trajectory of the boulder, watching it soar through the sky, embedding itself deep into the mountain. “Hope you like the snow, motherfucker.”

An avalanche of white death cascaded down the slope with the sound of a million dragons stampeding across the ground, swallowing everything in its path in a haze of pearlescent ice. Frantically, she searched the ground, looking for something to shelter her, there had to be something- There! A dark hole had opened up from the blast earlier. Grinning to herself as Corypheus threw himself back onto his dragon and launched them into the air, Aislinn tumbled into the hole, where only darkness greeted her.

She hit the solid ground some distance below with a disturbingly loud crack, grimacing as a pile of snow from the avalanche fell through to land on top of her. _Adding insult to injury_ , she grumbled to herself. Crying out as she tried to move, her head flopped back onto the dirt, staring up at a ceiling she couldn’t see. _Definitely broke something. Some things. Lots of things. I suppose I’m lucky I’m not dead._

Thank the gods she had enough mana left, from that lyrium potion she had downed before the dragon showed up. It was a slow, excruciating process, but little by little, she healed the worst of her injuries- a cracked rib, a punctured spleen, a broken ankle and fibula, a shattered collarbone. The dislocated arm she could do nothing about, at least for now. She needed to find the others.

Why had she said what she did? _Stop him, just as I always have. Do not test me again. Again? As I always have? Why did I say that?_ Nothing made sense right now, and yet… she knew what she spoke was the truth. _What the hell is going on?_

Making her way blindly through the tunnel, she stared in horror at the sight that greeted her. _A fucking blizzard, of course there is. And me without a cloak or anything._ Maybe she should just go back into her tunnel and sleep for a bit. If she went out in that, she’d pass out and then freeze to death. Maybe she’d freeze while walking. The cold felt like a thousand knives piercing her skin through her leather armor. But if she waited too long, the tracks of the others would disappear. And then how would she find him? _So I’m dead either way. Lovely. At least freezing to death is supposed to be nice and relaxing, as opposed to starving._

Summoning the tiniest heat spell, well aware of her depleting mana, Aislinn stepped out into the snow. Taking one step. Then another. Desperately, she forced her mind to distraction, thinking of everything she could to keep herself from focusing on how utterly chilled she was, her socks wet and frozen inside of her boots, her legs burning with the strain of climbing, her eyelids so heavy-

Lochlan. His first steps. The way he smiled up at her, his dark, long lashes brushing against his cheek. The way his arms felt when they wrapped around her neck and snuggled against her to sleep. His bright, happy giggles. The way he said ‘I love you, Mama’. She could almost see him, just in front of her, prancing through the snow with at least two puppies nipping at his feet. “Mama, look!” he’d squeal. “A gift from the faeries! Will you build a snowman with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice lost to the howling wind. And Cullen. Somehow, it was easy tonight for her to recall the good moments, soothing and tender. Playing chess with him in his room back in the Gallows. How she had crowed her victory when she had finally beat him that one time, dancing around the room as he laughed at her exuberance. Him, sprawled out on the carpet, cooing to Lochlan as his son crawled all over him. One muscled arm, gently curled around the baby, both of them sound asleep in the armchair. His head, cradled in her lap as she read to him. Flexing her fingers, she remembered how soft his curls had been. How warm his arms were as they held her close. His deep baritone chuckling as her fingertips grazed his ribs.

“Stop that,” he used to murmur in a husky voice.

“Or what?” she had teased.

Smiling to herself, she felt his lips on her neck, his hands around her wrists as he pinned her to the bed. His sparse chest hair, brushing against her naked skin. His teeth, nibbling at her ear. Stumbling in the snow, she gasped as her awareness crashed back to reality. No, that was wrong, wasn’t it? _Let’s see. Alistair._

His warm, free laugh. Cullen used to laugh like that, before. _Stop it_. His terrible puns and jokes that made her roll her eyes and laugh, even when she didn’t want to. Cullen would probably react the same as her. And shake his head. _No, no._ His large warm hands, reverently running up her waist, bringing her closer, blonde hair shining in the moonlight- _Copper hair! He has copper hair, not blonde!_

This was hopeless. Her mind was not cooperating tonight. Was that an old campfire? And there, an abandoned wagon. At least she was on the right path. Peering into the wall of snow, Aislinn groaned to herself. There was still no sign of lights, or sounds from the villagers. Best to keep moving, then. What was that Corypheus said? Look within to know the truth? 

Focusing her thoughts, Aislinn shrugged to herself. _No time like the present, I guess._ Slowly, hesitantly she cast her memory back. She was… born in Florida, right? By the coast. St. Petersburg? The water in her mind was blue, so the western coast. What was it… the Gulf of Mexico, that’s it. Her parents. No, not her biological parents. Adoptive parents. A couple who had taken her in, but the woman left soon after, leaving the man to care for the toddler himself. He had died, in a car accident, when she was six. And then… she went back into the system. 

Foster home to foster home. Some good, others not. Bouncing around until she had phased out at age 18. After that, she had worked as a server, right? And there was the community college, where she had studied to be… A nurse. The urge to help people, to heal, had always been with her it seemed, even when she didn’t remember who she was. But she hadn’t finished school. Her car had broken down, and then her rent went up, and it was all she could do to just work to stay afloat. 

No family to miss her at least. Not many friends, either. She had stayed too busy with work and school to maintain a social life. It was lonely, she remembered. But she didn’t care. Much. 

The night she had come to Thedas, she could remember it now. She had been walking to her car, finishing another late, closing shift at the restaurant. The sky had flashed a brilliant green, and she had dropped to the ground, screaming. But no one else around her had noticed. And then- 

Nothing. Blackness. Until she woke up on that beach. What had she seen? Presumably, the Fade. The tint of the light was almost the exact same shade as her mark. Gods, how she hated the color. Both red and green now. _Good thing Christmas isn’t a thing here. I’d probably freak out._ So why had she been the only one to see it? 

Who was Aella? 

_Look within. Deeper._ She sucked in as calm and steady a breath as she could manage. Only to find… 

Nothing. Not a damn thing. Scowling at the snow and the steep hill she found herself climbing, she tried again. It was like running into a cloudy glass wall. No purchase, nowhere to grab on to to throw herself over. Unable to see through, only vague, fuzzy shapes visible. Hints of what lay behind it. Nothing she could use. 

Who is Aella? 

Sighing in relief, Aislinn realized she had reached the crest of the slope she had been sluggishly climbing for what seemed like hours. Her eyes drifted down to the valley below, taking in the campfires and Cullen and Cassandra- 

_What? Am I hallucinating again?_

“Aislinn! Linn!” She smiled as she heard his voice, crying her name out loud, watching as he tripped and stumbled his way up to her. “You’re alive,” he gasped. “Thank the Maker.” 

“You found me,” she murmured. 

Laughing breathlessly, his entire being shaking with relief, he threw his cloak around her. “Of course I did. Did you doubt me?” 

“No,” she felt his strong arms scoop her up against his rigid breastplate. Briefly, she wondered if she asked him to take it off if he would, so that she could feel his heartbeat. “Maybe a little.” 

Cassandra grinned as she tucked another blanket around Aislinn’s frozen body. “Such honesty, even in the face of her saviors.” 

“Can I sleep now?” 

“If you’d like,” he clutched her tighter. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” 

“Mmm. Safe,” she breathed, finally letting herself fall into her exhaustion, blissful darkness overtaking her almost instantaneously. _Safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens. mwahahaa


	22. Fate

It was an easy thing to throw himself into his work once more. His vow to win her back temporarily suspended, Cullen was currently more concerned with keeping her safe and whole. Skyhold was exactly what the Inquisition needed, and yet there was much to do to make it habitable and ensure its defenses. There were tunnels to clear, parapets to reinforce, trebuchets and ballistas to construct, guard rotations and training to be established- so much work to keep him occupied, that he barely saw Aislinn the first few weeks after they settled into their new home. Except for that one day, not long after they arrived.

He had caught the lost, overwhelmed expression of her face shortly after she had been named Inquisitor. It had been an unanimous decision on the part of him and his fellow advisors; there was no one else better suited to lead them. Time and time again, she had proved her mettle, both in her kind heart and fierce, protective nature. The Inquisition needed a leader, and she had accepted graciously. Even though he knew she had wanted to refuse.

“Inquisitor Kojima,” she had frowned. “It sounds weird.”

“To be honest, anything with your surname sounds odd,” he chuckled. “I had almost forgotten what it was, you use it so infrequently. Where does it come from, anyways?”

Aislinn had shrugged nonchalantly, “No clue. Orphan, remember? It was the name given to the orphanage when I was dropped off. But I think if Leliana has her way, we all should know within the next week or so. How are things going here?”

“There is much to do,” he gestured to the rubble surrounding them. “But we will be safe here. You have my word, Linn.”

“Safe enough to bring Lochlan here, possibly?” The hope in her voice was infectious, gripping his heart tightly in a vice. His son, he could see him again. He could have them both here, with him.

“That is my goal,” he murmured. “He would like it here, wouldn’t he?”

“Give him a horse and a mabari or five, and he’ll be as happy as a clam,” she had laughed.

And so, he buried himself in work, even more determined to make Skyhold impenetrable. It would have to be, if Lochlan was to live here. He would not be taken unawares again by any foe, man or demon. And he’d be damned if he let his son live with the king one day more than was absolutely necessary. Maker, he had so much to make up for. To Aislinn, to Lochlan. They deserved so much more than he had to offer them. But he had to be enough. He _had_ to.

Feeling a headache tingling in the back of his skull, Cullen leaned back in his chair and rolled his shoulders. Aislinn would be leaving for Crestwood tomorrow, along with Hawke, to go and meet the Champion’s Grey Warden contact. Having the man here was like reliving Kirkwall all over again- the lyrium, Meredith’s madness, Aislinn and Lochlan. Back when he had them, and he had been too scared to do anything about it. Ugh, the lyrium. He could sense the philter he kept in his desk, although why he kept it so near was beyond him. Perhaps he just liked torturing himself. Briefly, he allowed himself to imagine the relief he would know if he just took a bit more. His headaches, his joint pain, his constant insomnia- he would be such a better Commander than he was now. So why wasn’t he taking it? If the fate of the Inquisition was at stake, if Aislinn’s safety was at risk…

No. It had been because of the lyrium that he lost her before. His dependence on the stuff, his loyalty to a faulty Order was what had kept him from running with her. Never again would he allow anything or anyone to control him in such a manner. He could do this. For her, he could do anything. No matter the cost.

Glancing outside, he realized that dusk had fallen, and the sounds of swords clashing on steel had faded into muffled conversation and laughter, the cacophony from the tavern overtaking the sounds of the day’s training. With a groan, he pushed himself out of his chair, feeling the need to stretch. And eat, he shook his head as his stomach growled loudly. When had he eaten last, anyways? This morning? Last night?

As he made his way down the stairs into the courtyard, Cullen was pleased to note that the repairs on the outer walls were almost complete, and that all the guards posted on the battlements seemed to be alert, their gaze focused on the valley beyond. This time, they would have ample warning before another attack. The smells of whatever was on the spit in the kitchen were beyond tantalizing, but having no urge to actually sit down to eat his meal, a cook’s assistant shyly handed him a sandwich with a bit of cold cut leftover from lunch, giggling as he took the plate.

“Anything else you need, Commander, just let me know,” the girl winked.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, he merely nodded his thanks and wandered back into the keep, wondering where Aislinn was. In the tavern, perhaps? He had seen her go inside on a couple of occasions, mainly when Hawke and Varric physically dragged her into a round of drinks and a game of Wicked Grace. Or maybe she was in her rooms, packing for tomorrow. 

Lost in his own mind, he didn’t realize where his feet were taking him until he paused, taking in the sight of the gardens. The overgrown bramble had been cleared away recently, and the edges trimmed to show the neat flower beds and stepping stones that wound through the greenery. Although how there was any greenery at all, this high up in the Frostbacks, was beyond his understanding. Something to do with the elven magic, he remembered Solas mentioning. Stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth, Cullen surveyed the area, his eyes alighting on the solitary figure sitting at a table in front of a chess set under the stone gazebo tucked into the corner.

“Playing with ghosts?”

Aislinn started. “Oh, Cullen, it’s you. Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“I could tell. Mind if I sit?” At her wave, he settled himself into the wrought iron chair and idly picked up a pawn. “Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“No. Yes. It’s- ugh,” she buried her face in her hands. “There’s just so much to do, and suddenly I’m the Inquisitor? I’m nobody, Cullen. I can’t be in charge of all of this.”

“There’s no one better suited than you,” he firmly insisted. 

Slumping further into her chair, Aislinn groaned and let her head flop back. “I’m an apostate mage with some middling skill in healing and force slash lightning magic. A mother. I just want to go back to Denerim and take Lochlan and go hide somewhere in the country. I miss him so much.”

Cullen stared down at the table. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Oh, shit, Cullen, I’m so sorry. I know you do,” her head jerked up, feeling her heart ache at his melancholy smile.

“He doesn’t even remember me, does he,” he sighed. It was to be expected. After all, he had forgotten him before.

“I’m not sure,” she mused, moving one of the white pawns on the board. “I think he dreams about you. He tells me sometimes, about a tall, blonde knight that he has adventures with at night. I think he’s talking about you.”

Blinking furiously, the Commander watched as a large, fat teardrop splashed against the stone table. “I should have listened to you, Linn,” his voice was low and hoarse. “I should have run away with you when you asked. Then you would have been safe, and you wouldn’t be here, we could have stayed a family. This is all my fault, I’m so-”

“Hey, now,” her smaller hand covered his. “You weren’t ready to leave the Order back then. And if you had, you might have come to resent us for it. Besides,” she leaned back, leaving him acutely aware of the loss of her comfort, “Then you wouldn't be Commander. And I wouldn’t have this mark. Maybe no one would have it, and the world would have ended. So maybe, this is how things were supposed to be. As much as I dislike it,” glaring at her left hand, Aislinn watched as he listlessly moved one of his own pawns on the board.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Tapping another piece into place, she considered his question. Something had brought her here. So was it by accident? Or some otherworldly, cosmic design? All the events that had led her here- it seemed impossible. To go from an amnesiac, lost in a new world, to an apostate, a mother, the king’s lover, and now the leader of a growing organization dedicated to saving the world. Fate?

No, she had a choice, every step of the way, didn’t she? She offered to go with Cullen, instead of letting Hawke and the templars fight it out. She decided to love Cullen, and he chose his work over them. She didn’t fall blindly in love with Alistair; it was her choice to start a relationship with him. The king didn’t ask her to go to Haven, and no one made her run after that scream in the Temple. Even the mantle of Inquisitor hadn’t been forced onto her. Everything could have been prevented, had she wished it at the time.

“No, I don’t. That our lives are preordained? We all have free will. We both got where we are by the virtue of our decisions. It would be easier, to believe that there was someone else controlling the strings though, wouldn’t it,” she chuckled dryly. “Then we would have someone else to blame besides ourselves.”

“I suppose it would be.” Studying the board in front of them, his lips twisted up into a smug smirk as he gave her a rueful shake of his head. “You’re out of practice, Linn.”

“What? No, I’m- Ugh,” she saw it. He would have her in three moves. “Dammit, Cullen.”

The chair creaked as he leaned back, one arm casually slung over the side. “Another game?”

“Maybe later,” she scowled down at her errant pieces, feeling betrayed by the carved wood. “I’ve got to finish packing for tomorrow.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Um,” she tilted her head as she tried to remember when she last had a meal. “No?”

“You need to eat,” he replied gruffly. “I’ll have someone bring up food to your room. You’ve been losing weight.” It was obvious in the sharpness of her collarbone, visible beneath the oversized, lightweight sweater she wore, the angles of her cheekbones.

“Yes, well, that happens when you spend 95% of your time running up and down mountains, fighting everything under the sun and eating dried, stale rations all day,” she grumbled. 

“I’ll see if I can’t get some fresher food to the camps. Perhaps Josephine can persuade some of the local nobility to supply you as well.”

“That’s not necessary, Cullen,” she waved his suggestions away. “The people need it more than I do. It’s a mess out there. It’s been a lean winter for a lot of them, and might be worse this coming harvest. A little bit of weight lost won’t hurt me. Anyways,” as she stood up, he tried not to watch how her newly found muscles shifted under her sweater, or how her breasts strained against the thin wool as she stretched. “Thanks for the game.”

“If I don’t see you before you depart tomorrow, safe travels,” his eyes darkened a bit, reflecting the firelight from the nearby sconces. “Be careful.”

“Of course,” she grinned. “And I expect Skyhold to be in perfect shape when I return, Commander. I want our son here as soon as possible.”

Cullen was silent as he watched her saunter off, her last words ringing in his head. _Our son. Ours_. For the first time since seeing her back again, he felt at ease around her, a comfortable familiarity suffusing their conversation. And he rather thought she felt the same way- her barrier wasn’t as high tonight as it had been. Perhaps there was hope left for them.

Well, he had his orders. Time to get back to work. He had a keep to make indestructible.

*** 

“Crestwood is stupid,” Aislinn groused at the neverending rain. “That rift is stupid. These undead are stupid. Ghosts are stupid.”

Varric tried to smother his laughter, to poor effect. “Storm doesn’t like the storm?”

“I will set you on fire, dwarf.”

“Now you sound like Cassandra,” he grinned as Blackwall, at least, chuckled under his breath.

“Those aren’t ghosts, they’re wraiths. And it’s not that bad,” Solas glanced up at the dark clouds. “The rain is quite peaceful.”

“As Sera would say, you’re daft.”

The group was carefully picking their way through the mud, in an area of Old Crestwood that had, up until an hour ago, been covered by the lake, searching for the entrance to the caves below. Shrieking as a wet piece of seaweed fell on the back of her neck, Aislinn almost tripped right into another wraith as she flailed her arms in a frantic attempt to get the cold, slimy, vegetation off of her.

“You there!”

The imperious voice cut through the rest of the group’s snickers and chuckles.

“Nothing here will listen to me! I demand- Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s a spirit,” Solas studied the nebulous shape in the small, barnacle encrusted hut. “Of Command, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What do you mean, it’s me?” Gripping her staff tightly in her unmarked hand, Aislinn shoved the bubble of nausea down back into her stomach.

“You. I have seen you before. Guided you, once or twice. It has been awhile. Or perhaps it was recently?”

“No,” she shook her head emphatically, “We have never met before.”

“Ugh, you don’t remember. Mortals,” the spirit scoffed. “No matter. I know it’s you, your aura is familiar to me. I hate this place.”

“Well, that’s, um,” Aislinn was at a loss. She was absolutely positive she had had no dealings with any spirit such as this in the Fade or the real world, but the wraith was stubbornly insistent. Or maybe… “Do you know the name Aella?”

“Mortal names have no meaning to me,” it huffed, the tone clearly exasperated with the direction the conversation was heading. “Now, will you obey my command so I can leave this dreary place?”

“Don’t do it, Herald,” Blackwall warned. “Sounds like a demon.”

“It’s a spirit,” Solas all but spat. “Its nature is not cruel or vindictive.”

“Sure, why not,” groaning, Aislinn held her breath, praying the spirit wouldn’t ask her to do something ridiculous, or kill anyone.

“A creature made of rage had the gall to chase me across the lake. Destroy it, and I will leave.”

 _Oh, a rage demon_. “Your wish is my command,” she swept the wraith a bow. “Come on guys. One demon’s head on a silver platter, coming up.”

Finally finding the door that would lead them down into the flooded caves, Aislinn paused at the top of the ladder. “Solas. What could it have meant when it said my aura was the same? I’m certain that I’ve never met it before. Do different people share the same auras?”

“No,” his voice drifted up from the bottom of the tunnel. “Everyone has a unique aura. It’s especially noticeable in the Fade. Perhaps the answers to which you seek lie there. If you like, we can meet later.”

“In the Fade? Like, while I’m sleeping?” Trying to decide whether or not that was creepy, Aislinn examined a stretch of wall as they descended deeper into the moldy darkness. “Scratches. Like… people were trying to escape.”

“Maker,” Varric inhaled sharply. “There were people down here when it flooded?”

Blackwall shook his head as he crouched next to a painfully small set of remains. “Poor bastards.”

“Yes, in the Fade. The Veil is thin here,” the elven mage frowned at a pile of skeletons in a smaller cave.

“Let me think about it. We need to find that demon first, and close the rift. And then get some answers out of the mayor. And then find Hawke.” She couldn’t be done with this place fast enough.


	23. Homecoming

Aislinn never wanted to see sand again, unless there was a bright blue ocean and a cabana and shirtless warriors serving her margaritas involved. The Western Approach was her definition of hell on Thedas, with the burning sun, the demons, the fucking dragon, the darkspawn, and those acrid sulfur pits. And they had to go back. Handing her reins to Dennet, she perched on a nearby barrel to unlace her shoes, grimacing as a handful of the abrasive stuff poured out of her boot.

“How was it?” Dumping out her other shoe, Aislinn wearily leaned back against the rough wooden stable wall.

“I’m sunburned, my armor is dented after that damn dragon tried to take a bite out of me, and the sand has rubbed me raw in places where sand should never even touch. So basically, everything hurts, and I feel like I’m dying.”

With a sly smirk, Leliana held out a crisp scroll of parchment. “This should make you feel better.”

Her eyes lit up as she spied Alistair’s seal, broken already of course, and she all but snatched it out of the spymaster’s hand. Scanning his sprawling penmanship, she leapt up and threw her arms around the other woman’s neck, laughing as she spun her around in a circle. “They’re coming here! He’s bringing Lochlan! When did he send this?”

“Almost two weeks ago,” Leliana grinned. “When the Commander finally deemed the keep safe enough to house your son, he recommended I send a letter to Alistair. They should be here by tomorrow.”

Hugging the letter to her chest, Aislinn bounced up and down in the dirt, heedless of the clouds of dust she was kicking up. It had been months since she had left her son. The letters they exchanged were nowhere near the same as holding her little boy in her arms again. “Can you get someone to send up an extra bed to my room for him? I’m not sure if he’s ready for his own room yet, so I’ll probably have him stay with me. Maker knows there more than enough room up there.”

“It’s already been done,” the spymaster smiled. “Josephine has been corresponding with Alistair to see what the lad favored, and a corner of your chambers has been turned into a lair fit for a young dragon hunter.”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes at the kindness of her advisors. No, her friends. “Thank you. So much, Leliana. This means so much to me.” Inclining her head, the redhead made to shoo the Inquisitor out of the stables.

“I’m sure you wish to bathe and eat, after your travels. A tub is awaiting you in your room, as well as a hot meal. We can debrief later tonight.”

“I love you!” Aislinn called over her shoulder and turned to jog across the courtyard. Lochlan would be here, tomorrow. Her joy and excitement were infectious to everyone she passed along the way, her chirped, “Hello!” and enthusiastic hugs and handshakes startling more than one noble and maid as she skipped through the hall. Glancing up from where he stood just outside of the ambassador’s office, Cullen grinned at her exuberance.

“Guess she found out Lochlan is coming tomorrow,” Varric chuckled. “Tell you what, I miss that kid. She’s a really great mother.”

“I always knew she’d be,” the Commander stared wistfully at her back, watching her prance up to the door that led to the residential wing. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait for tomorrow either. His stomach felt like it was doing flips inside his body, and he was torn between wanting to go hide in his office the rest of the day or joining Aislinn in celebrating. But as it would be unseemly for the Commander of the Inquisition to leap about, he settled for finishing his work.

Hunched over his desk for the next several hours, his hand began to cramp with the endless stream of requisitions and reports he had to annotate and sign off on. The sun was just dipping behind the mountains, casting a warm glow throughout his room, highlighting the motes of dust dancing in the air. Lochlan would be here tomorrow. And so would the king. Scowling at the thought of the man with Aislinn, Cullen decided to distract himself from that train of thought and leaned down into his drawers, finding what he sought underneath a stack of old parchment. With careful hands, he smoothed out the worn drawing and smiled down at the stick figure family, remembering the day Lochlan had given him this. Aislinn had been so happy to see him, so thrilled that he had kept his promise. Andraste forgive him, how disappointed she must have been when he had not returned after.

Suddenly aware of how dry his throat was, he stood to pour himself a glass of water and was struck with a momentary thought of, _I wish this was lyrium_. He stared down into the clear liquid. His headaches had been getting worse recently, and he knew his mood swings fared no better. Just the other day, he had made a recruit cry after he loudly berated them for dropping their shield. That wasn’t who he was. And apologizing afterwards had made him feel no better. _I should tell Aislinn. Before I do something stupid, like yell at her again._

No time like the present. He froze as she pushed his far door open, her hair illuminated by the golden sun like a halo around her head. Settling his cup down, Cullen managed a shaky nod, “Inquisitor.”

“Commander,” she mocked with an impish grin. “Aren’t you excited about tomorrow?”

“More than I’m letting on, that’s for certain,” he chuckled. “I’m just… nervous.”

Crossing the space between them, Aislinn patted his bracer, making him desperately wish he wasn’t wearing his armor so he could feel her hand against him. “You’ll be fine. He’ll still love you, Cullen.”

“I hope so,” reaching up to rub his neck, he glanced up at her face. “Did you need something of me?”

“Ah, just bringing these reports by. All the details from our lovely desert excursion,” her lips twisted into a moue of disgust. “And to tell you, we’re all meeting in the war room in fifteen minutes. Cullen, have you slept at all since I left? Or eaten?” Peering up at his face, she frowned at the sight of his dark circles and hollow cheeks. “You look like you did back in Kirkwall.”

“I, um,” averting his gaze, he stared instead at his desk, where the philter of lyrium lay in his bottom drawer, humming faintly in the back of his mind. “There is something I need to tell you. Both as your Commander and as… your friend?” he finished hopefully.

Perching on the edge of his desk, she nodded. “I’m listening.”

“Right, well,” he took a deep breath, slowly releasing it along with some of the tension that had coiled inside of his chest. “I quit taking lyrium.”

Her eyes shot open at his admission. “Since when?” Aislinn whispered, gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

“Since I was recruited into the Inquisition, when I left Kirkwall. I wanted a new start. To not be bound to that life any longer. My leash,” he spat bitterly, “Kept me chained to the Order. I should have been strong enough back then to break it, but I wasn’t.”

“And are you strong enough now?” Her low voice resounded in his head, not challenging or taunting. Merely curious.

“I am,” he nodded firmly. “I have to be.”

Studying his face, Aislinn slowly nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“Some days are better than others. I can bear it,” his smile was soft and assuring. “Cassandra knows what to look for, and will relieve me of my duty, should i become incapable. I just,” he scratched his head, trying to find the right words that would not make it sound like he was making excuses for himself. “If I seem out of sorts, or do something uncharacteristic of me, say, yelling or being cruel, please tell me. Some of the side effects wreak havoc on my mood, and I would not want to cause offense.”

“Cullen,” she snorted. “You always yell these days.”

“Well, I don’t mean to,” he grumbled. “You’re just a lot more difficult than I remember you being.”

“Excuse me?”

Wincing at her sharp retort, he held up his hands placatingly. “I did not mean it like that.”

“How else was I supposed to take it?” she asked incredulously.

“You’ve changed. Not in a bad way!” he rushed to assure her. “A good thing, actually. You’ve become so much stronger and more confident. I met you when you were still scared and virtually helpless, back in Gallows. And now you’re,” he gestured to all of her, “You. The Inquisitor. My superior. Maker’s breath, you took down a _dragon_. Which, by the way, I still mean to have words with you about. You don’t need anyone anymore, least of all me. I’m just trying to learn who you are now, that’s all.”

“I’m still me,” she shrugged. “And I’m still scared and lost, Cullen. More so than ever now. I will always need you. As my Commander,” she hastily added with a rosy blush. “Your, uh, knowledge and expertise are vastly superior to anything I could ever hope to acquire in my lifetime. Just like I need Leliana, and Josephine, and all the rest of my companions. Like Cassandra. I couldn’t have done hardly anything without her, especially in the Hinterlands, I mean, have you seen her fight? Against a bear? The woman is unstoppable and- I’m rambling,” a huffed sigh escaped her. Glaring up at Cullen’s smirk, she crossed her arms and stared at the floor. “Anyways. War room. Don’t be late, Commander.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” No, it didn’t matter that Alistair was coming tomorrow as well. Aislinn still loved him, he could see it in her eyes still. And by all that was good and holy, he was going to win her back. The king had no chance.

***

For possibly the hundredth time that morning, Aislinn paced the battlements that overlooked the road leading up to Skyhold. The rest of her advisors had already accepted that the Inquisitor would get no work done today. Preparations for both Halamshiral and Adamant were well underway, and there were blueprints to study, the Game to understand, the heraldry and names of the nobility to learn, courtly manners (which were apparently twenty times more convoluted than Ferelden customs) to practice, among a dozen other things. She should be learning to dance. She should be training. She should be- _is that a flag in the distance? No, just a bird_ , she groaned as she leaned against the wall. Cullen was just as bad as she, peeking out of his window at every shout from the guards or whinny of a horse. A smile crossed her face as she caught a glimpse of his blonde head, poking out yet again.

“He’s scared.” Cole, the spirit of Compassion who had stayed after warning them of the attack on Haven, popped up beside her. 

“Cullen? I know,” she murmured. “Not much I can do.”

“The pain of being forgotten yet again, the suspicion in his eyes, so like his mother’s. Haunted, scarred. He never intended for it to be like this.”

Cullen. Her gaze once again traveled to his tower. She really needed to work on giving him more slack. After all, he had been under a lot of pressure back in Kirkwall. It was all too easy to recall the anguish in his face, every time he stopped by and she had to remind Lochlan who he was. But their son was older now, and more likely to remember him should Cullen leave again, for whatever reason. Although she was not sure that would be for the best. So far, her son had been spared the heartache of having an absent father, being too young to realize what he was missing. But if he stayed here, and Alistair left… Cullen would have to step up and be the father Lochlan deserved. Or she would kill him. It was simple as that.

“Riders spotted!”

Squinting out past the blinding snow, Aislinn squealed as she recognized the heraldry of House Therin, flapping on a crimson and gold flag, as a group of armored men cantered down the road. “They’re here they’re here they’re here,” singing to herself, she practically fell down the stairs in her rush to reach the gates.

“Easy there, Storm,” Varric called out. “I’m not explaining to Loch how you broke your neck just because you were too impatient to watch your feet.”

“Especially after all those times she used to yell at him for running down the stairs back at home,” Hawke laughed. “Oh, the irony.”

“Both of you can shut up now,” sticking out her tongue, her tone was light and teasing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Just behind the group that was assembling, she noticed Cullen lurking in the shadows. Both of them had agreed it would be best to wait to reintroduce the pair until they were in private, but that did not stop the Commander from wanting to get as close of a look as possible. Offering a smile to Cullen, and another for Captain Eremon who had slipped in to stand at her back, she waited for what felt like eternity, until she could hear the horses clopping over the bridge.

The caravan swept in with minimal fanfare, the king clearly visible at the forefront, regal even in his nondescript silverite armor. She supposed he had not wanted to draw too much attention to himself and put his precious cargo at risk on the journey here. Wincing as Josephine pointedly elbowed her in the ribs, Aislinn remembered who she was and took a step forward.

“Your Majesty,” she bowed low and deep. “Welcome to Skyhold, sire. I trust your trip went well?”

“Inquisitor,” he nodded solemnly, only a twinkle in his eye betraying his true feelings. “It was rather uneventful, my favorite sort of journey. This is quite a place you’ve got- oof!”

Barely catching the bundle of blankets as it launched itself off of Alistair’s horse, the king chuckled as he untangled the lad and pointed him in the correct direction. “Mama! Mama!” Lochlan shrieked as he barreled the rest of the way across the courtyard, flinging himself into her outstretched arms.

“Oh, baby,” she clutched him to his chest as he wrapped his little body around her waist. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“You were gone forever and forever,” he sniffled into her blouse. “I missed you, too.”

“I know I was, Loch,” sinking to her knees, she kept her face buried against his hair, uncaring as to the reactions of the gathered crowd. She finally had her son back, after so long apart, and nothing would make her end this moment sooner than she wanted it to. “I’ve been doing a lot of things here, though. They made me Inquisitor, you know.”

“Does that mean you’re important and stuff? Alistair told me you have your own castle now. And horses!”

“I do, see?” Releasing him just enough so he could look up, Aislinn pointed to the towering building behind them. “This is Skyhold.”

“Wow,” he breathed, his dark eyes bright with tears and excitement. “It’s huge! Did you really see a dragon, Mama?”

“I did,” she smiled as she spotted the scale she had sent him months earlier, fashioned into a necklace and strung around his neck. “And guess what?” Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she grinned, “And I even fought and killed one. Your mama’s a dragonslayer now.”

“Really?” His screech echoed off the walls of the keep, everyone within range wincing at the high pitched yell. “Tell me everything! Tell me tell me tell meeee!”

“I will,” she kissed his head. “Later tonight, okay?”

Standing up, she smiled as Lochlan noticed Varric and Hawke behind them, and threw himself at the dwarf amidst shouts of, “Uncle Var! Uncle Gar!”

“He wasn’t any trouble on the trip up?” she asked Alistair softly.

“None whatsoever,” he promised, raising her hand to his lips. “You look lovely, by the way.”

“Flatterer,” she teased, pausing for the smallest fraction of a second as she noticed the darkness behind his eyes before it flitted away. “And here’s your valiant Captain, Your Majesty.”

“Eremon!” Alistair beamed as he took the other man’s forearm. “Ready to come back home?”

“As always, Your Majesty,” he bowed, one fist over his heart.

“Thank you for keeping her safe. I know she was an handful,” Eremon chuckled at Alistair’s loud whisper, earning them both a mock glare from the Inquisitor.

“Hush, both of you. Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms.” Calling Lochlan back to her side, the lad immediately slipping his hand into the king's, Aislinn turned to head up the stairs that would lead them inside the main hall. As other servants appeared to settle the horses and direct his men to their own lodgings, Alistair paused, his head scanning the courtyard until he spotted him, his jaw clenched and his expression harsh and pained. The king nodded to the Commander, once, receiving the tiniest of nods in return, before following the Inquisitor.

Leaning with his arms crossed against the wall, Cullen fought back a whimper, his eyes locked on to where the king held his son's hand, as if it were natural. As if _he_ were his father. But was that Aislinn had said, back in Haven? He was his father. But so was Alistair. Who had been there for the boy the past few years? Tucked him into his bed, read his stories, played with him, held him as he slept? It sure as hell wasn't Cullen. _Not because I didn't want to_ , he reminded himself. Not that it changed anything. Lochlan was so big now, wholly changed from the toddler he had been two and a half years ago. A little man, he thought to himself. It was like looking into a mirror, the features on his son. They had the same unruly curls, the same nose, and wide lips, only his coloring favoring his mother. And so full of life, he smiled wistfully to himself. _I wonder how long it’ll take before the secret is out_. All it would take was a shrewd glance at the pair to realize they were related. _Good_. The thought had more venom behind it than he expected.

Aislinn had said she would send a runner to him when she got Lochlan settled, so for now, all there was for him to do was wait. He was finally going to meet his son again. With a final prayer to the Maker to let it go well, Cullen turned back to the stairs and headed up to his office. Maybe he could finish a few more reports before she called on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, just dealing with never ending migraines so updates are going to be sporadic. You can blame my unborn child. I know I do.


	24. Shattered

Aislinn smiled as she watched Lochlan bounce around her room, inspecting every shelf, every drawer, every painting in his signature, tornado-like whirl. He had been overjoyed with his new room, actually her former loft, that Josephine decorated with shelves full of books, Blackwall lined with a dozen newly carved animals, and Iron Bull had stocked with actual dragon’s teeth and horns and even more scales. A canopy stretched from the ceiling to the floor now, able to be pulled open and shut to give them both the semblance of privacy, or as much privacy as having a four year old afforded her.

“I think he likes it,” came an amused baritone from the stairway.

“Lochlan,” she called upstairs. “Will you come down please?”

Cradling his new precious dragon tooth, Lochlan slowly climbed down the ladder, his eyes sparkling as he scampered over to his mother. “Mama, look! Is it real? A real tooth?”

“It is,” she ruffled his hair. “Iron Bull got that from the dragon we fought in the Western Approach and figured you’d like to have it. You’ll have to thank him later, okay?”

“Okay! Oh, it’s him.” Cullen froze as Lochlan noticed him standing on the other side of the room, his hand frozen on the banister. For once, he had forgone his armor, just for this meeting, and was clad only in a simple pair of leather breeches and a fine, linen shirt.

“Do you remember him, love?”

The boy nodded. “It’s the knight from my dreams. He protects me when we go on adventures and stuff. He’s the best dragonslayer in the world,” he tugged at her shirt. “Besides you, Mama.”

“Lochlan,” kneeling beside her son, Aislinn took his hands into hers and turned him so he was staring down into her eyes. “Do you remember living in Kirkwall? Before we moved to Denerim?” He nodded. “Do you remember a man who used to visit every now and then? A tall blonde man, with curly hair?” Another, more hesitant nod. “That was your father, sweetie. I know his hair isn’t curly anymore, but this is he.”

“My… father?” He looked curiously over at Cullen, who had forgotten how to breathe or blink as he waited for his son’s reaction. “How is your hair not curly anymore? Can you make mine not be curly either?”

Cullen’s breath left him in a rush as he chuckled. “Just a bit of wax, that’s all. I can show you later, if you like.” Carefully approaching the boy, he took out the folded drawing from earlier and held it out. “Do you remember drawing this for me? It was your Satinalia present to me, before you left Kirkwall.”

Inspecting the childish drawing with a critical eye, Lochlan shrugged. “That’s my old work. I’m much better now. Why have you been away for so long?”

“I made a lot of mistakes,” Cullen murmured softly. “But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Aislinn’s eyes met his as he uttered those binding words, the silver in her irises flashing as she narrowed them. The intent was perfectly clear- if he broke this promise, she would call for his blood, of that he was certain.

“Hey!” Lochlan’s shout dragged his attention back to his son. “I remember! You were a templar, right?”

“I was, but I left the Order. Now I’m just a soldier.”

“He’s my Commander,” Aislinn refused to let Cullen sell himself short. “In charge of all the Inquisition’s armies. And he has a really ferocious lion's head helm.”

“Wow,” he stared up at his father. “That’s so cool! Does that mean you can teach me to fight with a sword? Can I see your helm? Can I wear your helm? Alistair has been teaching me to ride a horse! I’m really good now. Do you have a horse? Can I have a horse?”

“Of course I’ll teach you how to fight with a sword,” he laughed before adding hastily, “When you’re older. And if your mother says it’s okay.” The scowl on Aislinn’s face was only partially mollified. “And yes, I have a horse, although I don’t ride him much these days. Let’s get you settled in first, okay?”

“Okay! I’m hungry. Is supper soon?”

“They should be serving food right about now, actually. Would you like to go down with me?”

Nodding, Lochlan hauled himself back up the ladder to leave his dragon’s tooth there, for safekeeping, before sliding back down and taking his father’s hand. “Ready!”

Gently wrapping his fingers around the much smaller hand, Cullen tried to keep his tears at bay, swallowing several times in an attempt to rein in his emotions. How he had dreamed of this, for so long. Glancing up at Aislinn, who had tears in her own eyes, he gave her a grateful smile. Clearing his throat, his voice was still rough and gravelly as he replied, “Let’s go, then. I heard the cooks made a blueberry tart, just for you.”

***

Buoyed by his son’s easy acceptance of him, Cullen was remarkably conversational at supper that night, almost friendly as he answered all the king’s questions about the state of affairs of the Inquisition’s troops. Aislinn sat at the head of the table, with Alistair and Leliana and Josephine and Captain Eremon on one side, and Cullen, Lochlan, Varric, and Hawke on the other. Leliana and Varric traded stories about the king, much to Alistair’s chagrin, while Cullen offered a few anecdotes from their training days that had Aislinn positively rolling with laughter.

“And you just, what? Walked back to the barracks in nothing but your smalls?”

Grinning sheepishly, Alistair nodded. “What else could I do? I thought about running away screaming like a little girl, but that seemed even more undignified.”

“It’s what you got for playing all those pranks all the time on everyone else,” Cullen chuckled, one hand gently stroking his son’s head, where it lay in his lap.

“He’s passed out,” Aislinn smiled down at him. “Too much excitement for one day. I can take him upstairs.”

“No need,” Cullen protested. “I’ll take him up.” Carefully lifting up the boy to his chest, the man tucked him securely in his arms before creeping across the main hall, making sure not to jar any of his movements. The sound and titters of adoring women, both noble and common, followed the man as he walked, who was oblivious to the attention.

“I think the Commander just endeared himself even more to the female population of Skyhold,” Leliana smirked.

“There’s an idea,” Hawke grinned. “You should charge people admission to come ogle the Commander. Bet the Orlesians would eat it up.”

Josephine perked up as another idea flitted through her mind. “The Orlesians! I’m sure we could find him a lovely, noble bride. An alliance that would benefit the Inquisition, of course.”

“He would hate that, and you know it,” shaking her head, Aislinn picked up her glass of wine and watched as a few of the nobility approached Alistair, drawing the king away.

“Well, you wouldn’t marry him,” Leliana pointed out. “He could use a wife, I think. That man needs someone to take care of him, or else he’d never eat.”

“I make him eat,” Aislinn protested. “He doesn’t need a wife for that.” Glaring down at her wine, the Inquisitor missed the almost imperceptible eyebrow raises of her friends, or the skeptical look that passed between the rest. “He’s doing just fine the way he is.” Raising her head, she watched as Cullen reentered the hall, only to be immediately sucked into conversation with an overly enthusiastic, entirely drunk Orlesian nobleman. A pang of sympathy for the Commander flitted through her heart at the sight of his clenched jaw, that vein in his temple ticking in time with his annoyance. _Poor Cullen._

“Andraste’s teeth, I’m so tired,” Alistair groaned, leaning against her shoulders. “Can’t I escape my title just for a few hours, ever?”

“Tired?” She smiled up at the king. “You can go to bed, you know, love.”

“I, um, might have forgotten where it is,” he mumbled, only slightly embarrassed.

Varric snorted from over where he sat. “Sure, you did, Your Majesty.”

Ignoring the snickers from the other two men, Aislinn gracefully rose from her chair. “Come on, Messere King. I’ll be your guide.” His arm was warm and firm as she wrapped her hand around it, leading him to the far door of the residential wing, both of them unaware as to the stares and whispers that followed their departure. Or of the dark, haunted amber eyes that trailed them.

“I really can’t believe this fortress was just here all these years, and no one claimed it,” Alistair peered out of a high cut window to glance into the courtyard below. “It’s technically on Ferelden lands and it’s not on any of our maps.”

“Solas called it Tarasyl’an Te’las. The place where the sky is kept.”

“Much prettier than Skyhold. But also much harder for my bumbling mouth to say,” he chuckled.

“Funny,” she smirked over her shoulder at him. “I don’t remember anything about your mouth being bumbling. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Ah, yes, well I, uh-” There it was. That darkness, that hesitation. Had it been so long that he had lost his confidence? No, even the playful glint his eyes always held with her was gone, hidden under a cloud of…

“Alistair.” His head turned slowly towards the sound of her voice, soft and entreating. “What’s wrong?”

His laugh was nervous, abrasive, and all wrong. “Nothing’s wrong! Why would anything be wrong? I’m here, with you, and we’re in my bedroom, and, Maker, this is a really nice room.”

“You should see mine,” she said quietly as she pushed the door closed behind them. “What’s wrong? And don’t lie to me. I think I know you well enough by now to tell when you’re not telling me the truth.”

Walking over to the window, Alistair stared out over the mountains, up at the myriads of stars sparkling in the velvet sky. “You can see so much more of the sky up here than in Denerim. It reminds me of when I was in Haven last. You could see for leagues.”

“Ali.” Stopping a few steps behind him, Aislinn waited until she saw his shoulders sag before she reached for him. Her hand curled around his arm, gently, yet insistently. “Talk to me.”

“I had hoped to talk about this later. Before I left. I wanted to have a little bit more time with you, not tainted by… this,” he muttered, but she barely heard him over the rushing of her blood through her head. Why was her blood still pumping? Her heart had stopped, hadn’t it? “The Landsmeet. They’ve given me a deadline, six months to choose a bride. I put your name forth as a candidate.”

“I take it that didn’t go over too well,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“Some of them thought it was a grand idea. The vast majority did not. By the sole fact that you are a mage. It’s not fair,” he spat. “But the idea of having magic flowing through the royal line terrifies them, like sheep facing the butcher’s block. They’re all so blind in their fear. Aislinn?”

Unwittingly, she had backed up until she was pressed against the bedpost, her arms tightly wrapped around herself, willing her tears not to fall, to not much success. “I guess we knew this was coming though, didn’t we? It was too good to last. Too good to be true.” 

Alistair felt his heart shatter at her broken tone, at the sight of tears splashing against the stone floor. “Linn-”

“It’s okay, Alistair,” she managed a shaky smile, just for him. “I would have been a terrible queen anyways.”

“No, no no no,” swiftly crossing the distance between them, he swept her up into his arms, trying to impress upon her the depths of his sorrow and love through touch alone. “You would have been an amazing Queen.” Just as her body met his, she dissolved into silent sobs, each one wracking her body with small trembles, willingly letting him lead her wherever he wanted. To the sofa, apparently.

Settling himself in the middle of the cushions, he tucked her into his lap, cradling her as if she were a child, his own tears falling into her hair. “Stay, tonight?”

“I shouldn’t. I couldn’t, Ali. I couldn’t… and just leave. Not after everything,” she gasped between sobs.

“Then just stay like this,” he whispered. “For a little while longer.”

“Alright.”

*** 

Cullen waited for her to come back down. More nobles came to distract him, somehow switching his wine glass for brandy at some point, and then whiskey. He barely tasted it, hardly heard their accented words as he waited for the door to reopen, and for Aislinn to reenter the hall.

She never did.

Which could only mean one thing.

She was with _him_.

Throwing the last of his drinking into his numb throat, he stared into the fire, feeling all of his muffled emotions and thoughts bubbling just beneath the haze in his mind. Was he drunk? Should he care? It was obvious what her choice was. And why shouldn’t she choose him? A king, over a broken former templar, a lyrium addict? It was comical to think she’d ever want him. How delusional he had been.

“Commander? Are you alright?”

The shape beside him was blurry from the alcohol and the tears that were threatening to spill out. Blinking them back, he forced himself to focus on the speaker. A woman, her pale blonde hair loose around her shoulder in soft curls. One of the women working in the keep, he thought. He vaguely remembered her smiles from past weeks, her coquettish glances the same as the ones so many of the other women graced him with. But he had never really paid attention, not really. Because of her. What was holding him back now?

“Did you need anything, ser?” Pressing her ample cleavage against his arm, her tone nor her sly smirk left any room for misinterpretation for exactly what she was offering.

“My office. You have three minutes to get there,” his eyes narrowed down at her, his slurred voice not his own.

With a breathless giggle, the woman spun away and disappeared in a swirl of skirts through the door to the solar. Pouring himself another glass of whiskey, Cullen downed the entire amount in one gulp. Damn Aislinn to the Void. And damn himself.

Maybe at least there, they could finally be together. For it was not meant to be in this lifetime.

*** 

“I should go. If Lochlan wakes up in a strange new place, I should be there.”

Alistair’s grip on her tightened for a moment longer, before he nodded and released her. “He’s had a few nightmares since you’ve been gone, but usually far between. His last one was about a fortnight ago. Oh, Loch. Maker, I’m going to miss the boy. I always thought if I had a son…” His wistful voice trailed off into silence. 

“He’ll miss you, too,” tracing the line of his jaw, Aislinn pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow. “You could still write to him. He’d like that.”

“I think I will.” 

Slowly, she straightened out her limbs and pulled herself upright, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles from having sat in the same position for so long. Smoothing her skirts back into place, Aislinn availed herself of the basin of water in the corner of his room, trying to wash away some of the redness from her eyes in case she met anyone on the way up to her room. “You’re leaving at the end of the week?”

“Yes. That’s why I had hope to wait, so the rest of my time here wouldn’t be so awkward,” he sighed wearily. “People will talk, you know.”

“People talk no matter what. And it’s best not to let this sort of thing fester, you know. Anyways, I…” God, she loved him. But she always knew this wouldn’t work out. Even that day by the river, when she said she wanted to try- even then, she knew how this would end. A common apostate could not marry the king. She was a fool for even harboring the slightest hope. Happy endings were not for people like her.

_Was it worth it?_

_Love is always worth it_ , she told that voice in her head. _Always_.

“I love you.” He blurted it out, as if he were afraid to say it, but if he didn’t utter the words, then he would explode. Hesitantly, his blue eyes watched her, waiting to see if she would be mad, or cry again, or-

“I love you, too. And I will never regret a single second we had together.”

“Aislinn,” he breathed, grabbing her waist and tugging her close, giving her no time to protest before his mouth dropped down on hers, tender and harsh, needy and generous. It was a goodbye. One that she would always keep close to her heart.

“Goodnight, Your Majesty.” She knew she had to leave now, or else she would stay the rest of the night. And that would only bring them more heartache, come morning. Dropping her gaze, she refused to meet his hollow stare as she slipped out of his room, and up the stairs into her room.

It was completely dark in her chambers, save the glow of the embers in the hearth and the gentle, radiant light that the small dwarven lamp that Alistair had made for Lochlan, to use at night to help him sleep, gave off. Reassured that her son still slept deeply, Aislinn stared at her bed. The hour was late, the rest of Skyhold asleep and yet… Her mind still raced in a jumble, her heart still ached with the loss. There would be no succor in the Fade for her tonight.

Slipping back downstairs, Aislinn wandered through the now empty keep. It was so different without the masses, the hall teeming with nobles and vultures like it usually was. Here, in the wee hours of the night, or was it morning now, it was almost peaceful. The moon shone from behind the stained glass windows, throwing subtle rays of color across the dark stone and the gold of her throne. Running a finger over one of the sunburst rays, Aislinn sat gingerly down on the unforgiving seat, and hunched over, drawing her knees to her chest.

Inquisitor. She was a fraud. A girl from Earth, masquerading as a Thedosian. Granted, she had gotten quite good at it in recent years, but someday, someone would find out that she didn’t belong here. One day, she would slip up and say the wrong thing to the wrong person. And then what? What would the people do when they found out she wasn’t one of them? Or would they even care?

They probably wouldn’t. Not as long as she did what she was told, defeated Corypheus, restored peace to the land, blah blah blah. Let the countries she was trying to save pick her apart. Give up everything she was for the greater good. _It doesn’t matter. As long as Lochlan stays safe, as long as he has a future, I’ll do whatever it takes._

Suddenly, she wanted to be as far away from that damn throne as physically possible. Sprinting out of the hall, she flew into Solas’ solar, finding it as dark as the rest of the keep. His paints were covered tightly, grouped neatly onto the desk until tomorrow. Remembering his offer to meet her in the Fade, she studied the unfinished mural on the wall, pencil lines marking the outline where paint had not yet been applied. _He said he could help me possibly figure out why that spirit recognized my aura. Maybe he could help me find out who Aella is. And why Corypheus thinks I’m her._

The door handle was cold to her fingers as she shoved it open, and stepped into the night. The days were warm enough now in these last days of summer, but the nights still had a sharp bite to the air that made her wish she had brought her cloak with her. Nodding to a guard who saluted her from the battlements, Aislinn noticed a candle still burning in Cullen’s window, above his office. _He must be awake still. A nightmare, I wonder? Or insomnia. Maybe he’ll want to play chess, if he can’t sleep either._

Her knock was soft and tentative, barely making any sound. After all, if he was asleep, she had no wish to wake him up. Lord knew he needed as much rest as he could find. Pressing her ear to the door, all she heard was silence, except for- was that a moan? A nightmare, then. With the vague remembrance of what happened the last time she woke him up from a nightmare, all the way back in his room in the Gallows, Aislinn shrugged and pushed his door open. “Cul-”

She froze. He wasn’t having a nightmare, it seemed. His back was to her, but everything else was on full display. The naked woman on his desk. His unclothed back, hips thrusting violently into her. Her full breasts, bouncing with each grunt he made, her moans breathy and beseeching. The sound of their skin, slapping together, the room filling with the smell of their sex. She wanted to throw up.

As quietly as she had entered, Aislinn pulled the door firmly shut behind her, and fled. Back into the keep. Through the main hall. Up to her room. Grabbing a random bottle from the pile beside her desk, she flung herself out onto her balcony and closed herself off, dangling her upper body precariously over the banister. She wanted to scream, to throw things, to make him hurt as he had hurt her yet again.

 _You had no hold on him, you said it yourself_ , her mind chided. _He’s moved on. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? For him to leave you alone?_

Popping the cork off, she took a long swig of whatever it was in the bottle, coughing as it burned its way down her throat. _Shut up_ , she growled at the voice. _I don’t care. I don’t._

Then why was she crying? Sobbing even harder than she had hours earlier, after Alistair broke it off with her? Why did this hurt so damn much? She should be happy for him. He deserved to be happy.

Fuck. She had to face both of them tomorrow. Taking another few gulps of the liquor, Aislinn let her head hit the wall as tears continued to stream down her face. It seemed like a cruel joke, as if she were losing both of them on the same night. _You lost Cullen years ago, when he abandoned you and Lochlan_ , she reminded herself. _This is for the best_. Right. She could do this. She was the fucking Inquisitor, after all. She could shoot lightning from her fingertips, crush a man under the weight of her magic- she had killed goddamn _dragons._

Tomorrow, she would don her mask and be the Inquisitor that they demanded she be.

But tonight, she was going to get good and fucking drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot happening here. I wanted to split this up into smaller chapters, but meh.


	25. Shame and Hope

His mouth felt like a nug had died inside. Shifting his sore body, Cullen grimaced at the sensation of dried sweat that covered what seemed like every inch of his skin. At some point during the night, he must have had a nightmare. Odd, that he didn’t remember waking up. Forcing his limbs to push himself upright, he threw aside the thin sheet that covered his naked body.

Right onto the blanket covered person sleeping next to him. Aislinn? Had she come to him in the middle of the night? Dammit, why couldn’t he remember? It must be her though. Who else would be comfortable enough to crawl into bed with him while he was sleeping? She must have left Alistair at some point, and came here instead. To him. Maker’s breath, he could hardly believe it.

Grinning to himself, he slid a hand up the curve of her waist, palming her breast through the covers. “Good morning, love,” he whispered huskily. Strange. Her form was softer than he had expected, given all her recent training.

“Mm… Morning,” a feminine voice giggled. A voice that most certainly and decidedly, not Aislinn. Jerking his hand back as if the sheets burned, Cullen threw off the blankets. A heart shaped face with blonde curls smiled sleepily up at him. “We have a little bit of time before you have to be up still, don’t we, sweetheart?”

“W-who,” he licked his dry lips, “Who are you?” Not the best thing to say first thing in the morning to a woman he woke up besides, but he found he didn’t care. Or remember.

“Rochelle,” she gently clucked her tongue. “You forgot already?”

“I- I…” What the hell had he done? Squeezing his eyes shut, Cullen dug through his most recent memories, trying desperately to recall what had led up to this woman being in his bed. The supper last night. He had taken Lochlan up to Aislinn’s room, tucked him in. Sat there beside him for awhile, just staring at his son. Came back downstairs, only to be accosted by Lord What’s His Face, listened to him prattle on about the most recent chevalier tournament or something like that. Watched Alistair and Aislinn disappear up to his room. Waited for her to come back. But she never had. And he, he had gotten completely and totally drunk. The details were hazy, but clear enough on one point- he had invited this woman back to his room. And then fucked her.

How long before Aislinn found out?

Dammit, who cared? She was in love with another man. She didn’t want him. _You’re a fucking idiot, Rutherford. Why not be with someone who does? Like this lovely creature who is currently naked and waiting, in your bed?_ Yes. That was what he would do.

Placing his hand firmly back on her waist, Cullen leaned in closer to her, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was soft, eager, and entirely too wet. Aislinn never kissed like this. With her, he burned. The fire in his belly that flared whenever he was around the Inquisitor, the desire that coiled deep within him, filling him with the overwhelming urge to take her, claim her, feel her come undone was nowhere to be found right now. Instead, he felt empty. Wanting and hollow. This wasn't right. This would never be right.

Gently, he pushed himself back and untangled her arms from around his neck. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I can’t do this.”

“Oh?” Winking at him mischievously, her hand snaked down to firmly grasp his flaccid member. “I can fix that.”

Grabbing her wrist, Cullen pulled her hand back firmly. “No, thank you. Last night was, er, fun, but a one time thing. Thank you for that. It was… nice.” The lie felt disgusting on his tongue, but he didn’t want to be cruel to a woman who didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t her fault he was a colossal, drunken idiot.

“Oh, well, that’s alright,” averting her gaze, Rochelle fumbled her way out of bed, trying to hide her disappointment as she pulled her dress back on. “I had fun, Commander. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. And if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Actually, he didn’t, nor did he care to find out. Swinging his feet to the floor, Cullen buried his face in his hands. Someone was bound to see the girl- Rochelle, he grumbled to himself- sneaking out of his room. And then word would fly through the barracks, that the straightlaced Commander was actually not celibate. It was only a matter of time before Aislinn found out. No, no, no, he couldn’t have that. Matthias. His new second-in-command would let him know if he heard any rumors being whispered about the Commander’s bedmate. And then he would put the fear of the Maker into his men, so that none of them would dare to utter a single word. If Aislinn found out…

He really should just give up hope. Accept the fact she didn’t want him, and get over her. After all, there were a million more pressing matters to deal with. Halamshiral was only a few months away, and right after that, he would lead the army to Adamant. Both a different kind of battle, fought on two entirely separate fields, but neither less deadly than the other. And he would have to watch the Inquisitor walk into the midst of both. A nest of vipers and a mass of demons. Everything fell on him to ensure her safety on both accounts. He better get to it, then.

Scrubbing the remains of last night off of him as best he could from his basin, Cullen pulled on his armor, methodically tightening and fastening each strap in a ritual that was more muscle memory by now than anything else. Once, preparing his philter of lyrium had been part of that ritual. Instead, he calmed his shaking hands by dipping his fingers into the small tub of wax on his nightstand, and began combing his curls back into a semblance of control.

His leather gloves gripped the rungs of the ladder as he lowered himself down into the office, and helped himself to the tea, laced liberally with elfroot and embrium to help his headaches and nausea, and popped the egg muffin into his mouth. Aislinn had been furious with him one day several weeks earlier when she had realized he had not eaten in two days. Too busy, he had protested. Ever since then, the staff had been bringing him his meals like clockwork- breakfast, lunch, and supper. And on the days that she was in Skyhold, and his withdrawals were particularly bad, she often dropped by, bearing an apple or orange or a bowl of strawberries, offering to heal the worst of his pain. She was…

Maker’s breath, but how he loved her. It was no surprise that others did as well. The king would be lucky to have her as his wife. _His Queen_ , Cullen thought bitterly. _My queen_. He could feel the chess piece bumping against his chest, where it still lay, safe in his inner pocket. In all these years, he had never taken it out. Probably never would.

Heading down to the training field, the Commander passed the rest of the morning overseeing drills, alongside Blackwall and Captain Eremon. He would miss the Ferelden, when he returned to Denerim, especially in the wake of Rylen’s departure to Griffon Wing far away in the Western Approach. Eremon was the type of man he wished he had more of, calm, steady, patient, with a sharp eye and sharper wit.

“Commander! You’re need in the war room, ser.” Nodding at the other to men to continue without him, Cullen briskly strode into the keep, back down the drafty hall that led to the massive room past the ambassador’s office. _We really should fix that wall_ , he thought idly, swallowing as he prepared himself to face Aislinn, praying that his face would not betray his shame. _Act normal. Act normal._

“Good, you’re here, Commander.” Something was different about her, he noticed as soon as he walked inside. Darker. Rougher. More restrained, more edges, more imposing. Her eyes was cold, her face impassive. “So we’re just waiting on-”

“Sorry I’m late!” The king of Ferelden sheepishly burst into the room. “I got lost again.”

“Oh, I thought I had assigned a guide to you! I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Josephine looked positively mortified at the slip of her memory, but Alistair waved her apology away.

“You did. I sent him away. I thought I had it figured out,” he shrugged. “Anyways, here now.”

“Your Majesty, I’ve prepared the map you requested, of the Inquisition encampments that are scattered throughout your country. The majority of them are in rural locations, but we do have a few closer to major towns. Redcliffe, Gwaren, Amaranthine, Edgehall, Highever, as well as a handful scattered throughout the Bannorn. We can pull those camps back, as I believe most of the teyrns and arls have sufficient forces to maintain their own lands, now that the fighting has died down. However, we recommended keeping our people in the more secluded areas, where the banns and minor lords have not yet sufficiently recovered. We can help the people there much more efficiently at the present. I’ve also marked the location of rifts that are still active. My main focus currently is on the rifts near larger populations, so I can’t say when I’ll be able to close them, but I will close them. Eventually.”

It was odd, that her voice had not even softened for Alistair like it usually did. Both had retreated into their role as monarch and Inquisitor, and the stilted distance felt like a tangible wall between her and the rest of them. Had they argued? Alistair's eyes were slightly red, but he had drank last night as well. And Aislinn as well.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana cocked her head to one side, studying the woman she called friend. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she clipped out. “Just had too much to drink last night, that’s all. Bit of a headache. Now. Where are we on Halamshiral? Have you secured our invitations yet, Ambassador?”

The meeting dragged on for what seemed like hours, his hangover beating a loud staccato against his skull, growing more painful with each passing sentence. Finally, Cullen snapped at the phrase “dance lessons”. 

“We are going to stop an assassination, not to partake in their frivolity!”

“We are going to do both,” Aislinn, no, the Inquisitor, snapped. “It is necessary we gain the support of the court, and if we will be expected to dance, then we shall. All of us, Commander.”

“I… Yes, Inquisitor. Of course, my apologies.” Thoroughly chastised, Cullen remained silent for the rest of the session, only speaking when asked a direct question, Alistair also not offering anything beyond what was directed at him.

“Anything else?”

“I believe that is it, Inquisitor.”

“Very well. If anyone needs me, I’m taking the rest of the day to spend with my son.” Bowing to Aislinn as she swept out of the room, Cullen began gathering up his things, only looking up when Leliana called after the king, who was trying to beat a hasty retreat.

“Alistair? A word?”

Stiffening, the former Grey Warden turned slowly around and walked back to the table, heaving a deep sigh. “Yes, Leliana?”

“What’s wrong?”

For a minute, he didn’t speak, simply stared vacantly at the whorls of the wood grain in front of him. “I suppose you’ll find out eventually,” he muttered. “The Landsmeet has given me a deadline of six months to choose a bride.”

“And Aislinn was not an option,” she murmured softly.

His laugh was brittle. “No. Can’t have a mage’s blood tainting the royal line, no matter how influential or brilliant she is. Damn bloodsucking, pompous, self righteous-”

“So you and her…”

“It’s over.”

All of Cullen’s organs instantly stopped functioning, only a buzzing in the back of his mind reminding him he was alive still. 

“I’m so sorry,” Josephine replied, her own eyes warm and sympathetic. 

“Me too,” Alistair muttered. “Can I go now?” As Leliana released the king from her interrogation, Cullen tried to comprehend what he had just heard. Aislinn was no longer with the king. That meant… Hope. There was hope. Not now, of course. He would give her time to grieve. But when she was ready, and back to herself, he would be waiting to remind her that he still loved her. Craved her, the light to his darkened soul. This time, he would be there for her, like he promised so long ago. 

***

Aislinn was so grateful that her son was back with her, especially on a day like today. Forcing herself out into the sunshine and to interact with her companions, she grinned as she watched Lochlan scamper around the stable, loudly exclaiming over the every carving Blackwall was showing him.

“Will you teach me how to make the animals too, Ser Warden Blackwall? Pretty please?”

“If your mother says it’s okay, lad,” the gruff man chuckled. Aislinn loved how the taciturn Warden lit up around children, his sweet and gentle nature shining through as he crouched at eye level with her boy. “And just call me Blackwall.”

"Can I, Mama? I could make you a bunny!"

“Maybe later,” she smiled. “There’s still a few more people I want you to meet.”

“Okay!” Lochlan shouted. Apparently, she shook her head, he had forgotten how to talk normally and could now only convey his thoughts at a deafening volume. At least they were outside. “Where to next?”

“First, please stop yelling, love,” she winced. Her headache had faded somewhat, but still lurked in the recessed of her skull. “The tavern next. You can meet Sera and the Iron Bull and thank him for your dragon gifts.”

The Herald’s Rest, as it was dubbed by Varric even though she was more often than not found nowhere near the place, was relatively empty this early in the day, only a handful of laborers and soldiers on break lingering along the wooden benches. Heading for the back of the room, Aislinn paused as she felt Lochlan grind to a halt beside her.

“Mama," he hissed. "That man has _horns_.”

“He’s a Qunari. You learned about them, right?”

“Is he a dragon, too?”

The Iron Bull’s laughter echoed off the dusty rafters as he threw his head back in pleased mirth. “‘Fraid not, kid. Just a Qunari. Your mother tells me you liked your gifts.”

Wide eyed and dumbstruck, the boy slowly nodded, still unable to tear his gaze away from the massive mercenary. 

“What do you say, Lochlan?”

“Thank you,” he whispered, still rooted to the spot he froze in.

“Oy, you big brute, you’re scarin’ the small fry.”

“This is Sera, Lochlan,” Aislinn motioned to the elven archer who was currently hanging upside off the railings above them. “Please don’t give him ideas, and come down from there.”

Nimbly backflipping down to the ground floor, Sera gave a little flourish as she landed, bowing to polite applause from the few Chargers that lounged nearby. “Say, you like cookies?”

“I love cookies!” Finding his voice once again, Lochlan’s face lit up at the thought of the sugary treats.

“C’mon then, we’ll get Bull to steal us some.”

“Why do I have to steal the cookies?”

“‘Cause no one dares stop you.”

“Fair point. Wanna ride on my shoulders, kid?”

“Can I?!”

Laughing as she watched her son’s apprehension melt away under the Iron Bull’s jovial personality and Sera’s impish nature, Aislinn called out behind the trio, “Don’t let him spoil his supper!” It was a blessing, she thought, to have companions such as these. _Friends. Not just companions. Family._

Each one of them was their own beacon of support and confidence: Varric gave her the listening ear that she received from no one else, encouraging her to talk through her problems, sometimes offering advice, but more often than not, simply letting her rant. Cassandra was like the sister she never had, brusque and clipped, but tender underneath her armored shell, with a heart that felt more deeply than anyone else realized. While Sera was like the little sister, keeping Aislinn on her toes, reminding her not to take herself too seriously and laugh a bit more. The Warden Blackwall was her rock, solid and comforting, a bastion of quiet strength whenever she had need of him, offering a word of wisdom or dry quip, whichever he felt like she needed more at the time. Madame Vivienne, while seemingly abrasive and aloof, actually cared far more than people realized- the Inquisition, and the protection of the mages, was as important to her as it was to the rest of them. Aislinn knew it was just her time at court, and her desire to have a say in a world that did not give commonborn mages a voice, that had created the barrier that was the only thing that most others saw. 

Cole was…. A mystery to her still. She believed Solas when he had insisted the young man was not a demon, but a spirit, but her dealings with the denizens of the Fade had been extremely limited up to now. His penchant for appearing out of thin air did nothing for her reservations, but for all intents and purposes, he was helpful, often appearing at the first hint of conflict, giving her ample time to resolve whatever issue was about to arise before words were spoken. And Dorian, well, it seemed the altus had adopted her as his protegé and shield, reveling in her lack of prejudice from Tevinter that was prevalent with every other Thedosian she had encountered so far. Not that she minded at, far from it in fact; his sarcasm and biting wit were a welcome relief to the tedium of the nobility and her duties.

The only two she was wary about was the Iron Bull and Solas. Not that she had any doubts as to whether she could trust them at her back; time and time again, they both had proven themselves, saving her life more times than she could count. Yet, there was something about each that prevented her from being completely forthcoming with the men. The Iron Bull was a known spy for the Qunari and a mercenary, his primary allegiance to his people, then his men, rather than the Inquisition. Aislinn remembered the tales of the Qunari Hawke and Varric and Fenris had told her, about when the Arishok had docked in Kirkwall, about their beliefs and methodologies. It was hard to reconcile what she knew about the Qun and its people with the man she had come to call friend. _If it came down to us or them, who would he side with?_ She didn’t have an answer, and so, kept him at arm’s length.

And the elven mage, Solas. Polite to a fault, possessed of a vast knowledge of all things arcane, an expert on the Fade. A man who did not claim a clan or city as his own. Not that she knew too much about the elves, but she was aware that it was a very rare event to find an elf who was not Dalish, a slave, or from an alienage. So, who was he? It was a mystery she couldn’t figure out, not yet.

Heading back outside, where the last rays of the day’s sun was casting long shadows across the courtyard, Aislinn grabbed a practice staff from the rack and twirled it contemplatively in one hand. _I probably should take up Solas’ offer to meet him in the Fade, maybe be able figure out some of what’s going on. But do I even want to know?_ No matter what she was doing these days, the thought of Aella was never far from her mind. Why did Corypheus call her that? Who was she? _Just another mystery, left for me to solve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorryyyyy Ali 


	26. Letting Go

“You can’t hide out here forever, Inquisitor.”

“Watch me.”

Cassandra sighed and raised her book a little higher, trying to hide the smile on her face. Resting against a tree, she watched as Aislinn huddled behind a broken section of wall, a thick blanket wrapped around her to ward off the autumn chill and her nose buried in the book the Seeker had lent her the other day. Halamshiral was only two weeks away now, and every spare second of Aislinn’s day had been crammed full of lessons on genealogies and history that stretched back to the second age, deportment and manners and how to fucking walk, dance, smile coyly, flirt and other things she deemed useless. In this, she agreed with Cullen, although she’d never admit it to him- they were going to stop an assassination, not to cozy up with the nobility. But she did recognize the need to attract more allies, which is why she had put up with the nonsense. Until this morning. When Josephine had tried to make her dance. With the Commander.

No fucking way.

For the past several weeks, to his obvious confusion, Aislinn had been steadfast in keeping all communication between them strictly professional. No longer did she drop by his office just to chat, unless she had a specific reason. Nor did she accept his requests to play chess. Or even call him by his name anymore. Every time she looked at him, she saw that scene of him and that woman, burned into her mind’s eye. And for the life of her, she could not figure out why it was affecting her so. 

“Inquisitor! Cassandra, have you seen Aislinn?”

Jerking her chin towards the secret hiding spot, Cassandra grinned as Josephine stomped over to where Aislinn huddled under the blanket, trying to hide from the wrath of her ambassador. “Traitor,” she hissed.

“Inquisitor, please. The seamstress is here to make the final adjustments to your outfit for the ball. And you really need to at least learn the basic steps of the rigaudon as well as the courante.”

“Find me a dance partner that is not the Commander, and I will.”

“He needs to learn as well, it would do you both good to pair together. Now, will you come willingly or will I have to send for the Iron Bull to carry you?”

“If you make dance with him again, Josie, I swear I will hop the next ship to Kirkwall,” Aislinn’s eyes sparked with her ire. “Xenon had some fascinating new schematics I was eyeing the last time I was there, and I’d love to get my hands on them.”

“Fine!” Tossing her hands up into the air, Josephine finally conceded defeat. The idea of the Inquisitor disappearing on her now, of all times, was a threat she could not chance. “I’ll see if Altus Pavus will be willing to stand in. By the way,” she continued in a softer tone, “Did something happen between you and the Commander?”

“No,” she mumbled. “It’s just… men. In general.”

“Ah, I see. Forgive me, I did not think.” Patting the Antivan fondly on her arm, Aislinn brushed away her apology.

“It’s okay. I’m doing better now.” It was easier to let them think she still mourned the king, while in truth, the pain of losing Alistair was like a scab now, the memory of the wound still there, but dull and healing, day by day. She missed him, yes, but she was doing okay without him, given that she had spent the last several months away from him anyways. And luckily, her life had stayed busy after the king left, between caring for her son, traipsing across Orlais, closing rifts, being a general helpful busybody to the myriads of refugees littering the countryside, the copious amounts of paperwork that grew every time she even glanced at her desk, and honing her magic into a force that was deadly to be reckoned with.

Closing her eyes as she waited inside a warm room on a center stand, Aislinn allowed the seamstress to poke and prod her, tightening different lengths of velvet and silk and lace around her waist and neck for what seemed like hours. She was pleased that she was not going to be stuffed into a dress, given that she would more than likely have to chase an assassin down at some point, and she was not the type of woman who excelled in running in heels or skirts. Instead, the Inquisitor would be resplendent in a crimson flared and fitted military style coat, the train of which brushed the back of her knees, detailed with a cobalt sash and gold lace, the colors of her organization.

“You’ve lost more weight,” the seamstress clucked disapprovingly around a mouthful of pins. “I’ll have to take this bit in again.”

“Have you not been eating, Inquisitor?” Circling Aislinn, Josephine’s sharp eyes roamed over her figure, taking in the angles and lack of curves that once graced her body.

“I have,” she protested. “I’ve just been training more, that’s all. If anything, I’m eating more these days. If I’m not working, I’m stuffing my face, I promise.”

“If you are certain. Now, while I have you here, let’s review a bit more, shall we? Let’s see… The Council of Heralds. Name all the members if you will, spouses and holdings as well.”

Dear God. The end of this ball could not come fast enough.

***

“That’s it, Loch. Keep your foot out like that, and pivot. No, don’t turn just your head, start from the chest. There you go, see? Much easier to keep your balance.”

“When do I get a real sword, Papa?”

Cullen ruffled his dark curls affectionately, chuckling as he said, “When you’re taller than the sword.” It had become something of a ritual for the two, after the soldiers had completed their daily training and before supper was called, to meet in the training circle. Lochlan was eager to learn all his father had to teach him, and Cullen was more than willing to leap at this chance to spend more time with his son. 

Watching the boy valiantly swing his small wooden sword and shield at the hapless straw dummy, the Commander leaned back against the wooden fence, his elbows resting on the top slat. _At least he is still willing to spend time with me. Maker knows his mother won’t._ Unsure as to whether Aislinn was avoiding him on purpose, or if she was still struggling with the loss of Alistair, Cullen had backed off of his pursuit of his former lover, determined to give her as much time as she needed to heal. But it seemed like it was only his presence that offended her. She still called her other advisors by their first names; it was only his title she clung to.

Maybe, despite his best efforts, she had heard about his tryst? _That is ridiculous_ , he scoffed at the thought. It would completely hypocritical of her to be mad at him for spending time with another woman when she was with the king, unless… Did it make her doubt his sincerity towards her? That he wasn’t serious about how much he wanted her back? Maker, if that were the case-

He needed to talk to her. Perhaps later tonight, after supper, when she retreated to her room to finish up on whatever lingering paperwork she had. Glancing up at the sun, Cullen called out, “That’s it for today, Lochlan. We both need to wash up before supper.”

“Can we go to the bathhouse again, Papa?” Bounding over to his father, the boy peered up expectantly. “I liked that much more than bathing in my room. The tub was so big! It was like an ocean!”

“I don’t see why not. Come on, let’s go get our stuff.” 

The bathhouse was not technically a bath; it was an underground cavern with a massive hot spring that fed into the cave system below Skyhold. It had taken the engineers a bit of work, and the dwarven stonemasons a great deal of their signature explosives to renovate the room into three separate usable bathing chambers, but now that it was complete, it was perfect. Passing the room set aside for the women, and the other reserved for mixed bathing, Cullen pushed the door open to the men’s side only to meet a thick wall of mist and heat, finding it blissfully empty.

As soon as Lochlan spied the deep pool, he let out a loud whoop as he undressed in record time, flinging his tunic and trousers to the ground as he leapt into the water. 

“I suppose I’ll just take these then,” Cullen muttered as he grabbed the forgotten clothes and removed his own, in a much more dignified manner. Setting their towels on a stool near the ledge, a deep groan escaped him as he slowly slid into the steaming waters, feeling the warmth seep into his tight and abused muscles.

“Papa,” Maker’s breath, but he loved it when Lochlan called him that, “Why didn’t you come with us to Denerim?”

Cullen froze. How was he supposed to explain to his child that his father was a fool? That, if it hadn’t been for his blind pride, they would never have been separated? Squeezing his eyes shut, he sent a quick prayer up to Andraste to give him wisdom. “I… made a mistake. You know how you listen to your mama? Well, I didn’t listen to her. And because of that, she had to leave with you, without me.”

“Oh.” The lad pondered this for several minutes, carefully dumping small handfuls of water out of the pool onto the rocks while he processed this news. “Most parents I know are married and live together. Why don’t you and Mama get married and live together?”

“I- do not think she wants that, Lochlan,” Cullen said as gently as he could muster. “I did a lot of foolish things and hurt your Mama a lot. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.” Not that she should, he sighed to himself. _The things I did, or rather, the things I didn’t do. She would be so much better off if I left her alone completely. She deserves so much more than what I have to offer. If only I were a more selfless man. If I were a better man._

“She’ll forgive you,” his son grinned confidently. “She always forgives me, even when she gets really mad at me. Because she loves me, she says. Like she loves you.”

The world had stopped spinning, he was sure of it. Choking the sudden lump in his throat down, Cullen took several deep breaths, concentrating on the image of Lochlan before him and not the fog that was threatening to envelope him. “She… loves me? H-how do you know?”

The boy shrugged, completely unaware of the turmoil raging within the older man. “I just do. You’ll see.”

It took several moments before Cullen had successfully hid his disappointment that the evidence was not a bit more concrete. “We’ll see, son. Now, wash up, else we’ll both miss supper.”

Did she still love him? Was Lochlan hearing, seeing something he had missed? He was an unusually perceptive lad, so the idea that he had noticed something was not out of the question. If only… He needed to find her. Tonight.

*** 

Aislinn leaned against the wall, her eyes cast toward the table and glaring at the row of shot glasses, neatly filled with the deceptive liquid. “I can’t get drunk tonight guys, I really have to finish about a dozen more reports and-”

“You do that every night,” Varric waved away her excuses. “Need to loosen up a bit, spend time with your people. Do everyone good to remind them you’re still a person.”

“And the best way to remind them is by getting hammered?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Ain’t no better way, Quizzy,” cackling, Sera shoved a tiny glass in her hand. “Now drink up!”

Sighing, Aislinn took the cup, knowing when she was defeated. “Cheers,” she mumbled, throwing the liquid back into her throat. “Holy fucking fuck,” spluttering as her esophagus melted from the inside out, she gasped for air, “The hell was that?”

“Maaras-lok,” the Iron Bull crowed, pouring another round for everyone. “Put some chest on your chest!”

“You think I’d look better with boobs?” Hawke nudged Sera, who snorted in response.

“Everything looks better with boobs.”

“Lovely. I didn’t need my taste buds anyways,” Aislinn groaned, taking a deep draught of the ale next to her before begrudgingly accepting another shot of the Qunari liquor.

Sipping delicately at his own glass, Dorian wrinkled his nose as the taste. “Are you sure this isn’t just clear turpentine?”

“My lips are sealed. Now, drink again! Hey, Knight-Captain, you’re back! Join us!”

Rylen ambled over with a friendly wave, his skin darkened from the months spent out at Griffon Wing Keep. Smiling up at the handsome tattooed man, Aislinn remembered that he had been called back to oversee to Skyhold’s defense while the Commander accompanied her and her retinue to Halamshiral. “Inquisitor,” he nodded.

“Rylen!” Was her voice already slurring? How much alcohol was in that drink? “Sit, sit,” she giggled.

“Well, that was fast,” Dorian remarked.

Downing another shot, Hawke beat his fist against his chest. “Shit is strong stuff. I’m even feeling it already. Aislinn had no chance,” he laughed. The Inquisitor ignored all of them, instead intent on the music that was spilling forth from Maryden’s lute.

“I love this song,” she gasped. “Dorian, dance with me.”

“I do not dance in taverns,” the altus sniffed.

“Hawke?”

“After I finish this ale, maybe. Maaaaybe. Might need a few more shots of that maarasi stuff first.”

“Varric?”

“Dwarves don’t dance, Storm.”

“Rylen? I swear to G-Andraste, if you say no to me too, I will cry,” attempting her best puppy dog eyes, she blinked her long lashes up at the lieutenant.

“Far be it for me to make a lady cry,” leaping to his feet, Rylen swept her a grand bow. “Inquisitor, may I have this dance?”

Laughing as she took his hand and spun across the floor, neither saw as the tavern door opened again, or the Commander, pushing his way inside.

His eyes followed their every move, glaring at the sight of his second’s hand on her waist, hers wrapped behind his neck, and their fingers intertwined. Rylen was leaning over, whispering something into her ear that had her whole face alight with joy. And the rest of her companions grinned along with her, watching the debacle as if they approved. This was all wrong. She shouldn’t be in Rylen’s arms, not when she belong with him.

Jealous fury welled up through his taut muscles, and Cullen took a step forward with clenched fists, unsure of what exactly he was doing, just knowing that she was his and- 

Aislinn laughed. He couldn’t breath. Maker’s breath, but she was so beautiful when she laughed like that. He had forgotten how alive she looked, caught in a moment like this, the last time he recalled seeing this was- He couldn’t even remember. Giggles and snorts and chuckles, yes, but not this. Her head was thrown back in mirth, her hands pounding on his shoulderes as she fought to breathe through her coughs, eyes sparkling like a dozen fireflies were trapped in their depths. Light. Free. Happy.

And he had about to go over there, and ruin it all for her. Again. Ignoring the few nods and calls that were thrown his way from his men, Cullen spun on his heel and raced back out into the night. What had he been thinking? _Mine, mine_ , a voice chanted in his head. _No_ , he snarled. _She belongs to no one. Least of all me_. Perhaps once, she had, but now? He had no hold on any part of her. Did not deserve to. Aislinn was no longer the frightened girl who needed his protection, who desperately sought the shelter he provided. The woman in that tavern was the Inquisitor, a woman, a powerful mage who trampled any who dared stand against her. A woman who had no need of him, save for the military skills he possessed, as the Commander.

His body shrouded in the dark shadows, Cullen leaned against the battlement wall and stared up into the sky, sightlessly watching as stars winked in and out of existence. What the hell was he doing? _Mine_ , he scoffed. _If you truly believed that, you would have protected her better, fought harder, years ago back in Kirkwall. She was never yours to keep, Rutherford. You have Lochlan. Be content with that_. He had his son. That was enough, for a broken ex-templar like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I have fluff incoming soon. And even a bit of smut! :O


	27. Viper's Nest

Something had changed. Aislinn couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but the energy between her and Cullen had shifted yet again. Before, she had been the one holding him at bay, hiding behind the wall that she erected to keep herself safe, but now it seemed like he was the one on guard. The tenderness in his voice whenever he used to murmur her title was replaced by clipped professionalism, his warm eyes veiled and shuttered.

 _Maybe this is it, then. Maybe he’s finally realized that this, that we, would be a mistake and he’s giving up._ She should be pleased with this new direction, and yet… The ache in her heart that lingered whenever she caught of a glimpse of him intensified until she could barely breathe. This was the best thing for her, she knew that without a doubt. But why did it have to hurt so damn much?

Huddling further into her cloak, Aislinn summoned a small heat spell to ward off the freezing night as their caravan pushed steadily onward down the Imperial Highway. They had been traveling for almost a week, and tonight, they would finally reach the estate that Josephine had arranged for them to use while in Halamshiral. Not that she disliked being on the road, but the slow pace they were forced to move at, given the sheer amount of supplies and finery that accompanied them, was killing her.

“Is everything well, Inquisitor?”

Smoothing her furrowed brow, Aislinn released her bottom lip from her teeth as she shook her head. “Just worried about Lochlan. I know we couldn’t bring him with us, not that I’d want to given that we're heading into probable danger, but I still worry.”

Cullen’s stern features relaxed by the slightest degree, as it always did when the topic shifted to Lochlan. It was the only time she ever caught a glimpse of the man within. “I know. Skyhold is well defended, and Rylen is more than capable of leading it in my absence, and yet-” a heavy sigh fell from his lips. “I worry, as well. If anything happened to him…”

He would blame himself for the rest of eternity, she knew. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Worst that will happen is that he’ll smuggle another family of nugs into my room.”

“Well, if you hadn’t allowed them to stay for so long and thrown them out as soon as you discovered them, he might have realized that nugs do not belong inside buildings,” his mouth twitched into a smile.

“They were cold,” she protested. “And the mama had a new litter! I couldn’t do that to them. Leliana wouldn’t let me do that to them either.”

His muted laugh surprised them both, the first she had heard from him in weeks. Blushing under her curious gaze, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes. “Well, I know Lochlan loved them. He was so sad when you finally relocated them to the barn.”

“Blackwall didn’t mind,” she replied. “He got his carving pupil back. He’s been complaining recently that Loch hasn’t been spending as much time with him recently.”

“The man actually complained?” Cullen was startled. He wasn’t sure if he had ever heard the Grey Warden utter any sort of negative word, unless it was directed toward the enemy.

“Not per say, but I think I know him well enough to know when he’s upset. Everyone’s become very fond of our son, and they’re all jealous that he chooses to spend most of his time with you,” she teased.

Grunting, his armor creaked slightly as he shrugged. “That is possibly the one thing I will never apologize for. Although I do admit, it’s flattering how much he wants to be around me. I did not expect it.”

“He worships you, Cullen. Surely, you can see that.” His head whipped up as he heard her utter his name. When was the last time she had said it, instead of his blasted title? He had almost forgotten how sweet it sounded coming from her lips. “You know,” lowering her head, Aislinn fiddled with the reins in her lap, “I’ve missed this.”

“And what is this, exactly?” he asked stiffly.

“Just talking. Like friends,” her smile was wistful as she glanced up at his impassive face.

“You were the one who drew back first,” he reminded her. “I did not wish to impose.”

“I know. And you didn’t. I just… Do you think we could be friends again? Or is that asking too much?”

Cullen was silent for several minutes, turning her words over in his mind, the creaking of the wagon and the low murmurs and laughs of the soldiers behind them fading into the background. Just friends. With her. It wasn’t fair of her to ask, not when he still loved her so much. This would be a special kind of torture, to be close to her and yet not as close as he desired, and yet… It would make her happy. Even now, with hope shining within her eyes, she was so lovely that he struggled to draw breath. And truth be told, he had missed their easy companionship as well. All the nights they had spent curled up together, talking about everything under the sun. How she used to tease him, how he used to make her laugh. Their silly, meaningless conversations about nothing at all, and the deep, soul searching topics that made him realize how sheltered and small-minded he had been. Not to mention that Lochlan deserved two parents who could at least be civil with each other. Any issues he would have with their arrangement would be his own. He could do this, for their son, for her.

“I would like that.”

“Oh,” she beamed up at him. “That’s, um. That’s great.”

Neither spoke in the immediate silence that followed, the tension suddenly awkward and heavy.

“So we-”

“Are you-”

Aislinn flushed as Cullen chuckled, shifting slightly in his saddle. “Ah, looks like we’re there.” Following the direction he raised his gauntlet in, Aislinn took in the widening path that led to the most ornate wrought iron gate she had ever seen in her life, dozens of torches and candles glittering in the darkness beyond, lighting up the mansion at the end of the drive.

“Pretty,” she remarked.

“If you like that sort of thing,” her Commander grunted.

“Oh, praise Andraste, we’re finally here,” Josephine reined in her horse next to the pair, her dark green velvet riding habit appearing almost black in the darkness. “Baths first, I believe. Then supper. We will get an early start tomorrow, Inquisitor, so please rest early tonight. Tomorrow will be a very long day.”

“Yay,” Aislinn muttered under her breath. “Well, here we go.”

*** 

Long day was the biggest understatement she had heard in forever, Aislinn thought as she watched the last demon crumple in a puddle of its ichor and rags under her magic. Flexing her hand, she braced herself as the mark connected with the rift, sealing the tear shut with an audible ‘pop’.

“Andraste’s tits, what was all that? Were those demons? How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace?” Aislinn threw the last bit of rope binding the Ferelden mercenary to the side, one arm extended to help the man to his feet. “I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damn bill.”

“Interesting,” she drawled. “Tell me everything you know.”

“So, it’s the grand nob after all.” Aislinn turned to face Sera as the mercenary left to go find the Commander, the newest addition to their ranks.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, dear,” Vivienne tapped an elegant nail on the smooth curve of her staff. “I’ve known the Grand Duke for some time, and this does not sound like him. The bit about the coup, yes, but not alliances with demons. That seems like it has more to do with his sister.”

“This is Orlais,” Cassandra spat. “Nothing would surprise me anymore.”

Rubbing her temples, Aislinn sighed and rolled her tense neck muscles, wincing as a particularly sharp jab of pain lanced through her back. “I guess we’ll find out. I think we have all the information we need, anyways. Let’s head back to the ballroom.” She hefted a worn leather satchel onto her back, pushing the nearest door that led back inside the palace open.

“Can’t believe you actually hauled that crap around everywhere,” Sera snorted.

Taking one of the small halla statuettes out, Aislinn held it up to the light. “Blame the empress, for her obsession. Plus, they’re cute. I wonder if she’ll let me keep one. Or two. Lochlan will probably want one. I can ask her that, right Cass?”

“No,” both the Seeker and Madame de Fer replied at once.

With a longing sigh, the Inquisitor threw the carved figure back into her bag. “Fine. I’ll just have Blackwall make me one.” The path back to the ballroom was littered with more Venatori that were easily dispatched by the band of women, not a single one of them suffering a single nick or burn from the spells and daggers flying through the air. Sprinting through the remaining corridors, Aislinn skidded to a stop in front of the ornate double doors, pausing only for a moment to catch her breath. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

Relief flooded Cullen’s entire body like a punch to the gut as he watched Aislinn and her companions slip into the ballroom. She was alive, unhurt, and pissed, he noted. Quickly making his way to where she stood, her eyes narrowed on the balcony opposite where she stood, he gave her a short bow. “You’re alright, thank the Maker. The Empress is about to give her speech. What are your orders, Inquisitor?”

A tiny smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “Wait here. Oh, and take my bag please. I’m going to go have a word with the Grand Duchess.”

“What? There’s no time, the- oh bloody hell,” he watched her flit away, down the stairs that led into the empty dancefloor. “Seeker, please tell me she has a plan.”

Hands firmly clasped behind her back, Cassandra gave a nonchalant shrug. “I would suppose so. She is not the type to do something as serious as this on a whim, Commander. You should know that.”

Grumbling under his breath, every muscle in his body was poised and ready for battle, his fingers twitching for a sword hilt that was not there. Amber eyes latched onto the crimson and gold clad figure, the lace around her bosom and wrists bobbing elegantly with each step she took. “Your Grace,” he heard her words echo through the now silent chamber, “We owe the court one more show.”

 _Please please please please_ \- Maker’s breath, but she was magnificent. The hundreds of candles reflected off her obsidian hair, glowing a soft bronze as she spoke, the Grand Duchess falling to her knees in the face of her defeat. _She did it. She really did it_. And then another voice, _Did you ever doubt her?_ No bloodshed. No violence. Well, besides what she had already witnessed and endured this night. 

Unable to resist the smug smirk that settled on his face, Cullen turned toward a giddy Josephine and a proud, beaming Leliana. “Now what?” he asked.

“The Inquisitor has quite the pile of evidence against all three conspirators in tonight’s act,” the spymaster drummed her fingers on the marble balustrade, eyeing Aislinn as she regally motioned Celene, Gaspard, and Briala out onto the balcony. “I wonder what she will do with it.”

“Either way, the worst of the damage has been avoided,” the Antivan practically shook in her relief. “The Empress lives, and Corypheus’ plot has been thwarted.”

It felt like years while he waited for Aislinn to return. The ballroom was stifling, the press of velvets and silks and perfumes closing in around him. Secretive eyes and sly smiles and wandering hands chipping away at his patience, until he was barely holding himself together. _Just a little while longer. This is nothing compared to what you’ve endured. Feckless nobility._ Forcing his feet to move, Cullen wandered the periphery of the room, checking in with his men that were scattered throughout. The foiled assassination attempt had sent ripples of shock and fear throughout all the assembled, evident in the hushed whispers and wide eyes, the men a little paler, the women clutching their fans tighter. How close they had all come to the end of the world.

Tension swelled in his chest the moment Aislinn returned to the throng, her head high and visage calm and expectant. Shooting her advisors a saucy wink, the Inquisitor took up a spot a few paces behind the Empress, flanked by the Grand Duke, the elven ambassador, Briala, lurking in the shadows behind the others.

“Lords and Ladies of the court, we are pleased to announce that an accord has been reached,” Celene’s voice rang out. “Our cousin Gaspard will now hold a place of honor in our cabinet. We must stand united, or surely we will fall alone. We will heal our country. A long road of restoration lies before us. But tonight, we celebrate the arrival of peace. Let the festivities commence!”

“By the Maker and Andraste’s grace,” Leliana slowly shook her head, grinning in a rare show of full outward emotion. “She did it. She forced them all to work together. This is…”

“More than we could have hoped for,” Josephine’s hands were clasped together, her eyes shining as all the possibilities of this new alliance sped through her shrewd mind. 

_That’s my girl_ , Cullen thought. Proud didn’t even begin to explain what he felt, she was majestic, glorious, utterly and completely perfect. Intent on following her to where he saw her scurry away, surreptitiously glancing around before she made her escape, he was instead bombarded with dozens of nobles, clamoring to offer their support to the Inquisition. “The ambassador would be much better suited to help you than I, please excuse me, pardon me, the Lady Josephine is right over there and she’d be thrilled to speak with you, excuse me.”

A lifetime passed as he struggled to cross the ballroom. Pausing to collect himself just outside of the glass doors, he felt the familiar hesitation staying his feet. Whatever their tentative, new friendship was, was it enough to grant him this? Would she even welcome his company? After all the battles and struggles of tonight, the only thing she might desire would be solitude. Studying her form for a moment longer, Cullen realized she was exhausted. Her body had lost its grace, slumped over the railing as she listlessly stared out across the gardens.

“Looks like she could use a friend,” Leliana murmured as she passed him.

A friend. That was him. Right. Smoothing down his crimson jacket, an identical color match to her own, Cullen softly shut the door behind him, breathing in the heady scent of the roses and embrium below, reveling in the chill and openness of the night air. Softly stepping up behind her, he quietly cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Tired,” she groaned. “This has been the longest night in the history of nights.”

“You were incredible. To see you bring to heel the Empress of Orlais, of all things,” he chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, Linn.”

“I can’t even comprehend what I just did. All I want now is about eighteen hours of sleep, a plateful of those tiny cakes in there, hot, crusty bread, and a steaming hot bath. In no particular order.”

“Shall I fetch you a plate of tiny cakes, my lady?” Shoving him affectionately, she snorted, shaking her head.

“Not quite yet. I’m enjoying this.” At his raised eyebrow and silent question, Aislinn merely smiled, her eyes focusing on a nearby vine. “Your company. It’s surprisingly relaxing, for the first time in years.”

“Thank you. I think?” Leaning on the balcony railing next to her, he could just hear the music from the band drifting out through the walls. “You know, we may never get another chance like this again.”

“Hmm?”

“Dance with me.”

Aislinn bit her lip as she stared down at his extended hand. “Cullen, I-”

“It’s just a dance, Linn,” he huffed, smirking down at her. “Shouldn’t waste all those dance lessons, after all.”

“You hated them as much as I,” she pointed out even as she slipped her hand into his. Forcing the lump in his throat down, there was nothing to be done for the pounding of his heart. Praying she wouldn’t notice, he arranged his hands properly against her waist and fingers, and swept her into the first stanza with a grace born of decades of training.

“I confess, I’m not much of a dancer. Frivolous waste of time,” he shrugged, concentrating on his motions, anything to take his mind off the sweet scent of lemons wafting from her hair, or the warmth of her body, so close to his. If he just leaned down a few inches, he could kiss the top of her head. The urge was almost overwhelming.

“So why are you dancing with me now?” Her fingers tightened unconsciously within his grasp as she waited for his answer.

“I felt like it.”

“Cullen Rutherford, doing something because he just feels like it?” Aislinn laughed, bright and cheery. “Maker, the world really is ending.”

“Hush,” he grumbled. “I’m concentrating.”

“My apologies, Commander.” Together they fell into an easy silence, his hand anchoring her to the present as he led her in swirling arcs across the terrace. Slowly, hesitantly, as if he were the sun, she felt herself gravitating closer to him as the sweet, distant refrains washed over them until she was close enough to feel his breath against her hair. Humming under her breath, her eyes fluttered shut and she rested his head against his shoulder. Warm, comforting. _Home._

Her eyes flew open. “Oh! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse, his warm eyes bright as his hands gripped her tightly. “I don’t mind, really.” Gently tugging her back to him, he pressed her back to his pounding chest and released her hand, wrapping his arms around her body instead.

“We really shouldn’t,” she whispered into his jacket, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck.

“I know. Just for a little while longer. Please.” He had died and this was heaven. His love, nestled in his embrace, not pulling away, but here because she chose to be. It was a dream he had all but given up on. Squeezing his eyes to ward off the tears prickling the back of his senses, Cullen let himself drown in her, just for the moment. If he never got to hold her like this again, he would make every second of this time count. Burn every detail of the moment into his memory. The way the moonlight glinted off of her midnight hair. Her long, sooty lashes, laying against her freckled cheeks. The rough brocade of her jacket rubbing beneath his fingers. Her muscles shifting as they swayed to no particular rhythm at all, firm and relaxed under his touch. This would be a memory he would always cherish, until the day he died. _I love you._

The sound of a throat clearing pulled them both back to reality. Reluctantly releasing her, Cullen turned to glare at whoever it was who dared interrupt them, a snarl caught in his throat. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he bowed smoothly, recovering just in time to keep from insulting the Empress of Orlais.

“Our apologies for the intrusion, Commander. Inquisitor, might we have a word with you?”

“Of course, Your Radiance,” Aislinn stepped away from Cullen, favoring him with a small smile as she disappeared back into the din and clamor of the ball. _Thank you_ , she mouthed.

Inclining his head, Cullen slumped against the wall nearby, running a hand through his golden hair. _Just friends. You can do this, for her and Loch. Come on, Rutherford. She needs you._ He would see this through to the bitter end, he resolved. Even though it would hurt like hell. If it was in his power to give, he would not deny her a thing. Maker knows she deserved it. She deserved the world. And if all she requested of him was his friendship, who was he to deny her?

Nodding at his decision, Cullen straightened his spine and strode back inside. Anything she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffiessssss <3 There was a fanart on tumblr of the Inquisitor carrying an armful of halla statuettes while Cullen stared on in horror and it made me giggle, so Aislinn carrying them around is a little tribute to that. Still funny.
> 
> My original plan of 30 chapters and a set plot has now all been trashed. Maybe 45 chapters? And I was writing last night and Aislinn decided to throw my storyline out the window and do her own thing sooooo, no idea how this is going to play out haha. All I know is there will be more angst (mwahahaha), more fluff, and definitely more smut. Which is pretty much a given in any story I write.


	28. Taunting Glimpses

“When all this is over, if I as so much _smell_ sand again, I will crush something.”

“I would be delighted to assist,” Dorian groaned as he slid off his own horse, handing the reins to a waiting soldier.

“As would I,” Cassandra muttered, unwrapping the length of gauze from her head that she had used to protect her fair skin from the sun. 

The cool shade and high walls of Griffon Wing Keep was a welcome respite from the blistering sun and the howling winds of the Western Approach. Slinging her pack onto her shoulder, Aislinn quickly clattered up the stairs into the main courtyard, greeting Lieutenant Coralyn as she offered her a crispy salute.

“Inquisitor.”

“At ease, Lieutenant. How goes the darkspawn problem?”

A brief smile crossed her face as she relaxed by the barest fraction. “We’ve only seen a handful since you closed up those tunnels, Your Worship. Even the varghests seem to be avoiding us now.”

“Excellent,” climbing up a ladder to the battlement walls, the other woman close on her heels, Aislinn stared off into the distant north, where the old Grey Warden fortress Adamant was only visible as a dark smudge against the horizon. “Any other news?”

“Seems quiet that way now. Scouts reported steady streams of Wardens trickling in over the past several weeks, but two days ago, all activity ceased. Whatever they’re planning, they’re going to do it soon.”

“Well, let’s hope they wait until tomorrow night at least,” she murmured. To the south of Griffon Wing lay their trebuchets and ballista and battering rams, surrounded by a massive encampment of soldiers, healers, and sappers, all waiting for the word to move out. It was to be all out war, the likes of which she had only read about in history books- bloody and in close quarters. _At least it’s more honorable than dropping bombs over civilians_ , she thought bitterly. _If war can ever be called honorable. At least everyone who will die tomorrow knows its a risk._ As if that would make her feel any better. How many of her people would never make it back to Skyhold, to their families? All because they followed her? All because she led them here, to their deaths? “Thank you, Coralyn. I’m sure the Commander has other questions for you.”

“Inquisitor,” another salute, and she was left alone, wandering the walls until she was gazing out over her army, the expanse of sand and rock shimmering in haze beyond the camps in the last rays of the setting sun. _Her army_. Men and women, human, elves, dwarves, even a few Qunari Tal-Vashoth. All who pledged their lives to her, and Inquisition that she led. Every single one of them someone’s child, a father, a sister, a lover. Closing her eyes, she could already picture the list of names, each person’s life reduced to a flourish of ink, a scrap of parchment, and a bag of gold sent to their family. All of them pawns in this war. Just as she was. So much blood had already been spilt, much of it by her hand. Was this who she was now? Just another instrument of death? When did it ever end?

“You seem troubled.” Clenching her empty fists, Aislinn leaned against the sandstone walls, bowing her head with a light nod. Cassandra stepped up beside her, her elbow resting on the top of the rail, and frowned. “Tomorrow weighs heavily on your mind?”

“Have you ever been in a battle like this? A battle of this proportion, complete with siege weaponry?”

“No,” the Seeker shook her head. “Skirmishes, ambushes, dragons- but nothing like this.”

“I’m just,” she sighed heavily. “All those people down there. If they die, it’s on me. It’s because I led them here. And I-”

“Oh, do shut up,” Cassandra snapped. Jerking her head up, Aislinn blinked at her friend. “It is not on you. Every single one of them are here because they believe in the cause. They believe in _you_. We all know exactly what we are going into, what is at stake, and all of us know that we may not make it out of here alive. But that is acceptable, because the victory is worth it. If we stop Corypheus here, take away his demon army, we keep our families and loved ones safe. And that is worth our lives.”

“But what if we don’t win,” she whispered.

“We will,” the Seeker replied confidently. “We must. Otherwise, all is lost. Come now,” a small smirk twitched across her face. “You scolded the Empress of Orlais herself as if she was an errant child. This is nothing, Inquisitor.”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“Here? Yes, I do. Lest you forget. You are the one we chose, unanimously I might add, to lead us. None of us have had a second’s worth of doubt since then. We have faith in you, Aislinn, even when you do not believe in yourself. I’ve seen what you can do, on the field, amongst the soldiers, with the common folk and nobility alike. People flock to you, not because you are the Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste, but because you are you. Strong, determined, with a heart that is gentle and rare. A warrior healer. Rather odd combination, but you wear the mantle well.” Turning to Aislinn, Cassandra smiled, her face softening into warmth and affection. “You will do whatever it is you need to do tomorrow. And we will support you no matter what.”

“I… thank you,” she murmured.

“Of course. What are friends for?”

“Oh, we’re friends now?” Aislinn grinned as Cassandra blushed furiously under her sunburnt skin.

“I, that is, if you-”

“I’m teasing you,” she laughed. “There is no one else I would rather call friend, or trust at my back, than you.”

“Liar,” the Nevarran snorted. “I think you’d let the Commander guard your back. And he would enjoy it.”

“Cass!”

Eyes sparkling with mirth, the Seeker merely grinned. “Don’t play coy, I saw you dancing at the ball together. Making amends?”

“It’s complicated,” Aislinn muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure it is,” patting her on the shoulder, Cassandra straightened herself. “But love it always worth it. After all, what else are we fighting for?”

***

“Role call.”

“Are we… physically in the Fade?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“The Chantry lied to me. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“Why are you hanging off the ceiling like a bat?”

“There is no ceiling.”

Shaking her head clear, Aislinn studied their new surroundings with more than a little apprehension, her mark flaring in a bright flash of electricity. “Ow,” she hissed.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Blackwall, solid and real as always, was the only one not freaking out, it seemed. As he pulled her to her feet, she grimaced at the swirling green haze that dominated the skyscape, the jagged, curled peaks in the distance, and the scream of demons lurking just beyond the edges.

“I’m alive. As we all are, so that’s something, I guess,” she muttered. 

“So, now what?” Hawke slowly spun in a circle, studying the desolate wasteland the group found themselves stranded in. “Stroud? Varric?” The Grey Warden who accompanied them shrugged, unsure of what to say.

“Hell if I know,” Varric rubbed his face vigorously. “Sparkler?”

The Tevinter mage frowned in distaste as he pulled the hem of his robes from a mysterious puddle. “Ugh. I feel like we should be excited that we are physically in the Fade, but the only emotion I can manage to scrounge up is disgust. Up there,” he pointed off into the distance. “Do you see that?”

“Looks like a smaller Breach,” Aislinn squinted. “Maybe there’s a rift we can use to get back. Either way, we need to start moving. Longer we stay in one place, the more likely it is that demons will find us.”

The possibility that they were stuck here didn’t even cross her mind. She refused to let it. There was no way, after everything that she had lived through, that this hell would be her final resting place. It was by her mark that they had gotten here, and it would be by her mark that they would get out and back to the real world. Practically stomping through the Fade, Aislinn led her party up the stairs, pass the spirit of Divine Justinia, and back down the stairs until the path widened out before them.

“So the demons have your memories? That’s… weird,” Varric said.

Hawke snorted. “Yay us, we get to kill more demons. It’s like my birthday, you shouldn’t have, Linn. Seriously. I like cake and whiskey better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she drawled. “What kind of demons are we looking for, you think?”

“My guess?” Dorian pointed straight ahead. “Those.”

The ethereal bright green wisps watched in complete stillness as they approached, weapons drawn and at the ready. “Heh,” Aislinn snorted. “Wraiths. That all you got, Fade?”

“Please do not taunt the demons, Inquisitor,” Blackwall groaned.

Winking as she shrouded herself in electricity, the Inquisitor cast an crushing arc of electricity across the open clearing, ensnaring the nearest two creatures in her spell while the others leapt into the fray. It only took a few seconds between her and Dorian to take down the demons, Hawke and Stroud standing behind open-mouthed behind the mages in awe at their strength.

“T-that was,” the Grey Warden stammered.

“Shit,” Hawke breathed. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I’ve had a lot of occasion to,” she shrugged. “So, these little lights are my memories?” Kneeling on the damp ground, Aislinn poked at the floating ball of energy with a tentative gloved finger. “Do I just pick it up? Smash it into my head? Eat it?”

“Try licking it,” Varric chuckled.

“Please do not eat anything in the Fade, Inquisitor.” Giggling, Aislinn glanced up at Blackwall, who was pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture eerily reminiscent of her Commander. _Cullen. I wonder if he saw me open the rift. God, I hope he doesn’t think we’re dead._

“Maybe just try picking it up first?” Dorian suggested dryly. “Before you go sticking random things in your mouth.”

Hawke and Varric sniggered as she reached for the light. And the Fade around them exploded into sound, as if they stood in the middle of a movie. Or a memory. Silently, the group watched as Corypheus held the Divine bound, along with the Grey Wardens, and a much softer Aislinn ran in gasping, an alarmed young soldier on her heels. “Cale,” she whispered. Thrown into the Fade as soon as she grabbed the orb, she had been chased by an army of writhing fearlings, taking on the appearance of spiders, only to be saved by the last vestiges of Divine Victoria, who threw her to safety through a rift. “She… saved me,” Aislinn collapsed on the ground. “She saved my life.”

“She knew it was worth saving, Inquisitor,” Stroud murmured. “I believe there are more wraiths up ahead.”

“More?” She frowned at the shadows moving at the end of the path. “But that was all I was missing from the Conclave.”

“Maybe your past?” Varric mused. “Either way, we’ve got to go through them.”

Nodding in agreement, Aislinn pushed herself to her feet and headed down to meet the rest of the demons. Hanging back as she let the others deal with this batch of demons, she stared at the pulsing cloud lights left behind. _My past? I already figured that out though._ And kept it to herself. After all, who would believe her if she said she came from another world?

“Linn?” Hawke’s gentle voice drew her back to the present.

“Right. I’ll just-”

_“Amatus! Don’t do this!” A woman with long dark hair and eyes the color of lightning shining through dark storm clouds stood in the middle of a shrine, horror written in her eyes at the sheer number of bodies, all elves, lying discarded in the chasm below._

_“Aella. Help me, please,” a tall man begged, surrounded by six other robed figures with their faces hidden. Neither handsome nor ugly, his own cowl was pushed back from an average, aristocratic face, hair the same color as hers braided down to his shoulders. The smell of lyrium and blood hung heavily in the air, acrid and metallic._

_“You know I won’t,” she shook her head, tears flinging off into the void._

_“Then I’m sorry. But I will not be deterred. Brothers! To me!”_

_“NO!”_

Gasping, Aislinn fell to her knees, her hands scrambling at her throat as she struggled to draw breath. So much blood. So much lyrium. So much power. She could still feel it, washing over her in waves, calling out to her like a siren’s song. If she just reached out a bit more…

“Inquisitor!”

The sharp voice invaded her haze, and with an audible snap, her magic fizzled out from beneath her fingers, her hand outstretched towards-

“The Black City,” Dorian pointedly stared at the far off island in the sky, always visible to anyone no matter where they were in the Fade, dreaming or not. “That spell you were about to cast. I’ve never felt its like. Where did you learn it?”

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered. “Did you see what I saw?”

“We did,” Blackwall stroked his beard. “Who was this Aella? And that man?”

“Wasn't that name you were asking me about back in Haven?" Varric turned to face her, still kneeling on the damp ground. She nodded. "I have theories,” he sighed. “But they can wait. We need to get out of here first.”

Shaking off the last remnants of the vision, the aura of power still clinging to her skin, Aislinn drew several deep, shaky breaths. _Get out of here first. Solas. I need to talk to him, more than ever now. Just need to get back._

“Right. Let’s go.”

***

She wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything, _feel_ anything, but there was nothing left within her. Her arms braced against the wall, Aislinn stood on the tallest rampart above Adamant, far above the stench of death and demon ichor. Stroud was dead, because she had asked him to stay behind. And he had been so damn proud and honored to do so. Not to mention the others who gave their lives fighting each other and the demons, now lying in neat rows in the courtyard, bodies covered by a rough burlap sheet, both Grey Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike. But they had won, right? Stopped the demon army from ever seeing daylight?

Why didn’t it feel like a victory?

Leaning her back against the wall, she slowly slid down until all she could see was the smoke from the funeral pyres and the leftover fires that were still being put out by her men, the endless sky looming above. The two moons hung fat and heavy in the velvet darkness, casting their brilliant light upon the desert. Far off in the distance, she heard the roar of one the many beasts that roamed this hellscape, perhaps hunting for its food, or calling a mate. _Life goes on_ , she bitterly thought. _Except for the dead._

Taking comfort in that fact that the wind was warm and alive, not the dead, stale air of the Fade, Aislinn closed her eyes. The nightmare demon had shown her her worst nightmares. Not surprisingly, it involved loss- losing her son, and Cullen. The spiders and whatever else had chased the others appeared to her as the two people she cared for more than anything in the universe, both bloodied, accusing her of failing them. For several heartbeats, she had almost let the fearlings kill her rather than strike down the images of them. Only Blackwall’s gruff voice and Hawke’s hand around her arm had reminded her that it wasn’t real. Cullen was waiting for her back in the fortress, Lochlan, safe and sound in Skyhold. The tiny gravestone that had been inscribed with everyone’s downfalls or fears- helplessness for Cassandra, temptation for Dorian, irrelevance for Vivienne- hers had contained only one word. Failure. Failure to save the world. Failure to keep the ones she loved safe.

Love. She _loved_ Cullen. Even after all this time, the passion might have lessened, but the love she had for the man was still as strong as ever. And right now, all she wanted to do was to run and find him, throw herself into his arms, and cry, let him carry her away. Which is why she was up here, alone. He had changed, towards her and life in general. Gone was the templar she had met years ago, leaving behind a man in his place that was everything she could have hoped for and more- honorable, loyal, trustworthy, honest. The way he cared for Lochlan stirred more feelings in her than she cared to admit, seeing both of their eyes light up as they laughed and played together. The way he snuggled into his father’s chest, Cullen’s smooth voice reading him a bedtime story. The way their son trusted him implicitly. The way Cullen had yet to do anything to break that trust. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Not yet. The old fear of disappointment and heartbreak still lingered, a dark cloud over their new and tentative friendship. Only time would tell if she would ever get past that.

Thinking back to the Fade, she frowned, thinking about the memory she had recovered, if it was even truly a memory. Certainly, it was from a place she had not ever seen. But there was Aella, and another man she called ‘amatus’. “A term of endearment for a lover,” Dorian had told her. “Or perhaps someone she was very, very close to.”

“The only time that I can think of, where that many slaves had been killed, and that much lyrium consumed, was when the Tevinter magisters attempted to access the Fade,” Varric had explained later. “Chantry lore says it was the Magisters Sidereal who turned the Golden City black in their pride, and the Maker cast them back down to Thedas, as the first darkspawn. But you said Corypheus said he was one of those magisters, and that the Maker was nowhere to be found, right? So one of those robed people we saw had to have been him. I don’t think Aella was part of their plan, whoever she was. She didn’t have the look of someone who approved.”

 _Aella, Aella. Who were you? What were you trying to do?_ She couldn’t remember the spell that she had been trying to cast when she came to. The memory of the sheer amount of power that had called to her was the only thing that remained, tingling at the back her mind with whispers of what she could do, what she could become. _Dammit. I don’t want more power. I don’t want to be anyone besides myself._

“Inquisitor? Has anyone seen the Inquisitor?”

“Not in awhile. Inquisitor!”

Groaning as she heard the calls from the scouts, Aislinn pushed herself to her feet. It was a mystery, at least. One that would have to left until she was back in Skyhold. Fervently praying that the answers she sought could be found in the Fade, she stretched her weary, cramped muscles and began the long descent back into reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall is fed up with Aislinn's shit LOL.
> 
> Aella! I think we'll see more of her soon and find out exactly what's going on.


	29. Time Long Forgotten

“Mama? It’s such a pretty day. Do you think you or Papa could take me out for a ride?”

A small head with bright, hopeful dark eyes peeked at her over the edge of her desk. Smiling down at her son, Aislinn ruffled his curls and leaned away from her desk. “I have to finish these today, sweetie. And as for your father, he’s pretty busy during the day with work. But why don’t you go ask him? Maybe he’ll take you out later this afternoon, if he has time.”

“Okay!” Stretching up on his tiptoes to peck at his mother’s cheek, Lochlan sprinted as fast as his five year old legs would go, down the million of stairs that led from their room into the main hall. The early morning sun cast pale shadows across the granite of the keep, the last chill of winter still in the air, making the boy huddle further into his thick cloak.

“What’s the rush?” Varric grinned from where he sat by the warm fire.

“Going to see if Papa, I mean, the Commander, can take me riding today. Is he down at the training field?” Bouncing eagerly on his toes, Lochlan grimaced at his slip up. It was hard to remember to call his father by his title when they were in public, not that he really minded since that’s what everyone else did, even Mama. It was just a lot of work, thinking and stuff. 

“Yup, should be still down there. Have fun, kid.”

“Thanks!” Resuming his breakneck speed through the rest of Skyhold, across the massive bridge, and down the slope into the valley, Lochlan arrived panting and already disheveled at the edge of field. Content to watch for now, he climbed the fence that encircled the training area and rested his chin in his hands, eyes following every move his father made. Commander was a good title, he thought. Every word Cullen spoke rang with authority, and every man and woman immediately snapped to attention when he directed his words to them. It was obvious even to him how much everyone respected his Papa and his advice. 

Puffing up his little chest with pride that this tall, imposing knight was his father, Lochlan spied a nearby stick and tumbled down onto the ground, snatching his new sword up. _Hold it like this_ , he remembered his father telling him, _Keep your wrist loose. Aaaaan take that! And that! Yaaaarrr!_ Down the imaginary dragon went, screaming in defeat as the young dragonslayer brandished his gleaming sword.

Rylen’s chuckle caught Cullen’s attention, his second motioning to the sidelines at his Commander’s questioning glance. There, next to the fence, a young boy practiced drills alongside the recruits, _doing a hell of a lot better than some of them_ , he thought wryly. Nodding for Rylen to take over, he sauntered over to where his son flung himself around, leaning against the top railing. “You’re doing better, Loch.”

“Pa- Commander!” Lochlan panted. “Ser!”

“At ease, recruit,” he grinned. “Why are you down here and not at your studies?”

“Henry is sick and can’t tutor us today,” he shrugged. “And it’s such a pretty day. The first in weeks!”

“It is,” Cullen agreed amicably, knowing that his son was angling for something. But it was a lovely day, in fact. The early spring snowstorms had confined them all to Skyhold for the last few days, but today saw the reemergence of the bright sun, the landscape glittering as if it were encrusted with fiery diamonds.

“Could we maybe, possibly, um, if you have time later, goforarideonthehorses?” The last few words tumbled out of his mouth, the lad bouncing in place, hoping beyond hope his father said yes.

Cullen frowned. There had been a slight lull in work, it was true, after the business with Halamshiral and Adamant concluded. Now there was naught to do but wait for their scouts to finish tracking down Samson’s base, continue the hunt for Corypheus, and train. But the soldiers still had a long way to go, there were several who desperately needed additional guidance and-

Rylen caught his Commander’s eye and gave him a nod. Well, why else have a second if I’m not going to use him? “Alright. We can go now, if you’d like. Take a picnic, make a day of it.”

“Really?!” Lochlan shot straight up into the air, grinning wildly.

“I’m overdue for a day off anyways,” Cullen grinned. “Let’s go back up to the keep and see what food we can pilfer, shall we?”

The little bear hug his son gave him was worth everything.

***

From where she stood on the battlements, Aislinn smiled to herself in more than a little shock as she watched Cullen and Lochlan trot out of the keep, her son’s docile pony attached to a lead line to his father’s stallion. _Apparently miracles are possible. Cullen actually taking a day off?_ Nothing warmed her heart more than to see him take time out of his busy schedule to spend with Lochlan. That’s what the lad needed, more than anything, especially now. The guilt weighed heavily upon her, that she had not been able to relax with her son as nearly as much as she wanted. But there was too much to do. The very fate of Thedas rested solely on her, and time with Lochlan was now a luxury that she could not-

Dear God. This must have been what Cullen felt like in Kirkwall. He had been the only thing holding the city together after the Gallows fell, and the pressure had laid him low. And they had suffered for it. But what else could he really have done? If he had chosen them over the people, how many more would have died in the aftermath? At least Lochlan had her back then, as he had his father now. _I’m such an idiot. Looks like I owe the man an apology when he comes back._

Groaning to herself, she pushed herself away from the wall and headed back into the keep. There was something else she had been meaning to do as well, and it was high time she stopped putting it off.

“Solas?”

The elven mage smiled down at her from where he had perched on top of the scaffolding, a paint brush poised in his hand. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

She took a deep breath, and stepped closer. “Your offer about the Fade. Does it still stand?”

“Of course.” Dusting his hands off, he nimbly leapt down onto the stone floor, calm and collected as ever. “I heard about the memory you recovered in the Fade, during Adamant. Do you have any other insight to offer? It might help me pinpoint exactly what to look for.”

“Yes,” sitting herself on the sofa where he indicated, Aislinn buried her face in her hands. “Aella, the woman. Corypheus called me that, back in Haven. He said spirits don’t change, sounded like he knew me, knew that we always used to fight. He- he said we were together? But I’m not sure how. I think she was with him, when he entered the Black City. Said I had taken yet another thing from him.”

“Hmm. Anything else?” Solas’ bright blue eyes regarded her serenely, not at all perturbed by her confessions.

“I said,” she shook her head. “I’m still not sure where the words even came from. But I told him I would stop him, just as I’ve always stopped him.”

Leaning back in his chair, the elf nodded slowly. “I have a theory. I’ll explain more in the Fade. I’m going to cast a spell, let you sleep, then I will find you, if that is acceptable, Inquisitor?”

“You can call me Aislinn, you know,” she replied wryly, swinging her legs onto the cushions and making herself comfortable. “Alright, go for it.”

Less than a heartbeat passed from when she felt the tingle of his mana to standing here, on the beach. Curling her toes in the warm sand, Aislinn plopped down happily just a few feet from the edge of the ocean, the soft linen of her dress fluttering in the breeze. There was something lurking at the back of her mind, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall a damn thing. Oh well. The day was too perfect to ruin by something as silly as worrying anyways. Stretching out on the silken shore, she closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of the sun and the sound of the crashing waves and the gulls.

“This is lovely.” Cracking open one eye, she frowned at the strange bald man, with pointed ears, dressed in ragged robes, so very out of place here in Clearwater.

“May I help you?”

A small smile curled at the edge of his lips. “Actually, I’m here to help you, Inquisitor.”

Thedas. The mark. Corypheus. Lochlan. Cullen. Her title brought her entire life crashing back down on her. No, she wasn’t just Aislinn Kojima anymore, was she? “Sorry, Solas.” As she stood up in the sand, her simple white, linen dress faded into her much more recent typical attire of leather breeches and a loose blouse. “So what was your theory?”

“You remember asking me about auras?” She nodded. With a wave of his hand, the beach blinked out of existence, a glimmering city of lacey spires and pristine marble rising around them. “Arlathan,” a wistful spark crossed his eyes at her questioning glance. “Or what I believe to be Arlathan, given what the Fade has showed me. I told you then everyone has a unique aura. I can feel yours as solidly as if it were you. If you concentrate on me, the weight of my presence, you should be able to feel mine as well.”

Closing her eyes, Aislinn did as he bid, casting her sense around the mage and reached. Solas felt… fathomless. Like she was staring into the sun that was hidden in a deep chasm, bright and blinding, and yet so far away. “Holy shit,” she breathed. “Does everyone feel like that?”

“It varies,” he inclined his head. “But typically, the more powerful the person, the stronger the aura. Yours is… particularly forceful.”

“But my magic,” she frowned. “I’m not that strong. My magic is average, at best.”

“As Aislinn, yes. But as Aella…” Her eyes narrowed. “People live, people die. It is the way of the universe. However, there are those who transcend death. Some who have gained the secret to effective immortality. And others who are reborn.”

“Reincarnation? Are you saying I’m…” Aislinn shook her head. “That’s absurd. And why the discrepancy? Why are some reborn and some simply die?”

“It depends on the mark you leave upon the world,” he gestured to the sprawling city beneath them. “Those who do extraordinary feats in life, their spirit becomes tethered to the Fade, especially mages, although it can happen to non-mages as well. King Calenhad, for example. Emperor Drakon is another. Aella was apparently yet another one.”

“So Aella was me.” Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the scene the Fade had shown her. A dark, stone chamber that reeked of blood and lyrium. Seven hooded men, dressed in black robes, one she had called amatus. And then, a bright, green light.

“Interesting.” Jerking her eyes open, Aislinn was horrified to see that she was back there in that crimson stained altar room, a massive basin in the center dais filled to the brim with thick, rolling blood. “It is simply a memory, Inquisitor. An echo of what once was.”

“Did I-” she whispered.

“You pictured it, and the Fade reacted to your mind,” Solas glanced around. “It appears to be the day the Magisters Sidereal breached the Golden City. One of those men is Corypheus. And that,” he pointed at a petite woman, dressed in ancient Tevinter robes of a dark plum and gold, glossy black hair pulled back into a severe bun, brandishing a wicked looking staff that crackled with electricity, “Was you. Shall we watch?”

_Aella raced across the narrow stone bridge, her lungs burning with the acrid tang of lyrium. By Zazikel, what madness had he wrought this time? How far would he take his lust for power?_

_“Amatus,” a dark haired woman sprinted alongside her, her sword and shield clanging against the rest of her armor. “Be careful of what you find within. Even I can feel the darkness.”_

_“I know, Marcella. But I have to try to stop him.” With a burst of magic powerful enough to rend the ensorcelled door in twain, Aella stormed into the inner sanctum, reeling in disgust from the sheer number of slaves, thrown carelessly into the pit surrounding the center dais, all bled dry to fill the ornate copper basin that was currently the focus of the Seven. “Amatus! Don’t do this!”_

_“Aella. Help me, please,” the one she called out to raised his head, his eyes wild and beseeching._

_“You know I won’t,” she shook her head, tears flinging off into the void._

_“Then I’m sorry. But I will not be deterred. Brothers! To me!”_

_“NO!”_

_Screaming, she unleashed her mana upon the massive spell, intertwining herself into the weave. Vaguely, she heard Marcella shout her name as the world disappeared in a blinding arc of serpentstone green light._ I’m sorry, Marci. _Aella knew how much her stoic lover hated that pet name._ I wish I could have held you one last time. I love you.

_Her feet had barely hit the ground before she felt herself flying through the air yet again, her back colliding with a solid thud against a- rock? Column? Where were th-_

Oh sweet Razikale. He did it. _The madman had actually found a way to breach the physical plane of the Fade. With a gesture more instinctual than planned, her barrier slammed into place as a wave of fire rolled into her. Everything felt so much more real and solid here, her magic tingling in a way that had her seeing the very fabric of the universe._

_“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled, advancing on her._

_“Se-”_

_“My name is Corypheus now. Dumat himself has chosen me! Can’t you see, Aella? We will be gods! And you could have been one of us.”_

_Her hand reached for his, then stopped short just a few inches away, brilliant silver eyes flashing in repugnance and regret. “I want no part in your insanity, brother.”_

_“You will be the first to bow, then,” a sneer curled at his face, once so familiar to her. Her own flesh and blood, her sweet younger brother, turned to… this. Power hungry, driven to sacrilege, all in the name of Dumat? So he could be a god?_

_“Corypheus! You should see this!” With a last piercing stare at his sister, Corypheus stalked towards the other high priests, where they stood gaping at-_

_The Golden City. Except it was black, darker than the midnight sky, darker than the abyss. The gates that held the once magnificent vista back were covered in a thick, oily substance that moved as if it were alive. “Open it,” he commanded. “Dumat promised us once we were inside, we would receive power and glory beyond all reckoning.”_

_“Don’t! Can’t you feel it? The very air here is tainted! Brother, turn back, while you still can!” Aella begged desperately, even as the haunting song that hummed in the back of her mind called to her, luring her deeper into the Void-touched citadel. Wrong, wrong, this place was all wrong. This was not the home of the Gods. This was the dwelling of monsters._

_“Ignore her,” Corypheus snarled. “Do it.”_

Come to me, my faithful servants. Free me from this prison, and I shall give you power beyond your wildest dreams. Immortality…

_“Dumat,” she murmured. How was she hearing him? Was it just because of the Fade? The God of Silence never spoke to any but his high priest. Silently, she watched as the other magisters used the last of their mana to force the gates opened, an unholy screech ripping through their heads as a dragon flew overhead, crowing its victory._

Free, _it sang,_ Free at last.

_“The city,” one of the men whispered. “It’s empty. Where are the spirits? The slaves?”_

Ah, my faithful servants. You have pleased me well.

_“Master,” Corypheus fell onto his knees, pressing his face into the dirt as did the others. “We have carried out your will, as you bade us.”_

Indeed. Now have your reward.

_Faces filled with radiant rapture slowly turned to horror as the oily, viscous mass that covered the gates sped towards them, swallowing up the ground as it oozed towards the men. “No,” Corypheus gasped, scrabbling back amidst the rocks. “What is this?!”_

Immortality, my slave. Together, we will return to the waking world, and I shall finally conquer it, and all will know my name and bow.

 _Aella stared, unmoving and unblinking, as the taint consumed her brother, his eyes locking onto hers as it devoured him whole._ What have you done, little brother?

_Just as quickly as the slime advanced, it receded, leaving behind-_

_Monsters. Twisted features, gnarled limbs, decaying skin. Shells of the humans they once were. Animalistic screams tore through the dead air as the magisters took in their new forms, warped and hideous. “What have you done to us, Corypheus?!”_

_“I- I-” he stared down at himself._

Now come, my servants. Come with me, and we will turn the entire world.

_“I will not let you!” Eyeballs barely set into their sockets swung toward her, the sole human left unblemished. Brandishing her staff, Aella straightened her spine and glared up at Dumat with all the defiance she could muster. “I will not let you destroy the world, Dumat.”_

Oh? I missed one? I do not intend to destroy the world, human. Simply remake it. Better. Wouldn’t you like to join us?

_The gate, she realized. The gate had been holding him back, all these centuries. At some point, the gods they knew and worshipped had been changed, twisted into madness and someone had locked them here. So if she…_

_“Brother,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry.”_

_“Aella, what-”_

_A wave of force slammed into the creatures, lifting them up as if they were a child’s rag doll, and threw them over the gate into the blackness beyond. Reaching deep within herself, deeper than she had ever drawn before, Aella pulled on every ounce of mana within her soul, weaving it around the shattered gates._

_“She means to trap us here! No!”_

Just a little more, _she panted, her vision going blurry and her knees shaking. It was too much, she would-_

_No, dammit. She was one of the most powerful mages of the Imperium. She could do this. She had to. The scream that emanated from her as a pure white light flooded out of her staff tore at her vocal cords, shredding them until she could make no more sound._

NO! I WILL NOT LET YOU RUIN MY PLANS!

_Ignoring the god, seething with incandescent fury, Aella continued to cast, her grip on life and magic growing more tenuous by the second. Until the gates clanged shut with a loud snap. And down she fell to the ground, drained, devoid of even the smallest iota of magic. A small smile graced her visage as she watched Dumat howl his burning rage on the other side of the sealed barrier, his wings beating violently against the obsidian wall._

_“Aella,” Corypheus’ voice was rough and gravelly, “What have you done?”_

Saved you from yourself, _she thought. Weakly turning her head to gaze one last time at the face of the one she once called brother, Aella felt her eyelids flutter shut._ I’m so sorry, Marci. Live well, my love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was your theory about Aella right? :)


	30. Hesitation

Aislinn jerked away with a sob, tears streaming down her face. The memory had been so real, she could still feel Aella’s- her- anguish at leaving her lover behind, her sorrow for losing her brother, the regret she felt that she had not done more to prevent Dumat’s release. “She,” Aislinn gasped, “I-”

“Take some time, Inquisitor,” Solas murmured softly, holding out a mug of water. Taking the pewter cup gratefully, she gulped the cool liquid down, soothing her Fade ravaged throat. 

“Her pain, I felt-” Shaking her head, Aislinn drained the rest of her water, her fingers trembling violent. “All of her emotions, it was too much.”

“Interesting. You felt her emotions? Heard her thoughts?” She nodded. Leaning back in his chair, Solas laced his fingers across his stomach. “It must be because you are linked. I did not feel anything, no,” he answered her unspoken question. “Merely watched. Did you by chance notice the woman with Aella? The one she called Marcella? Her aura was familiar, don’t you think?”

Frowning, Aislinn stared into the now empty cup, thinking back to when she had stood next to Marci. _Marcella_ , she corrected herself. She hated that nickname. Who did she feel like? Her aura… “No,” she gasped. Then burst into a fit of giggles that bordered on the hysterical. “Oh, Maker. I can’t believe it. Marcella is-” Another burst of laughter escaped her. “This is rich.” Shaking her head, Aislinn set down the cup and stood up. “Is it okay if we talk more later? I have… a lot to think on right now.”

“I would imagine so,” he inclined his head, watching her with that cool regard that always unnerved her. “As you wish, Inquisitor. You know where to find me when you’re ready.”

Nodding her thanks, she made her way back into the keep, letting her feet carry her wherever they wished, her mind lost deep in the past. Aella was Corypheus’ older sister. She, or her past self, was related to that- that _thing_. Another storm and force mage, the most powerful the Tevinter Imperium had seen in generations. Reaching back into her memories, Aella knew that the reason her brother had strove for power was because of her- his jealousy of her magic, and his own mediocre skills. Always living in the shadow of his big sister, even after he had attained the coveted position of High Priest to Dumat. _This… is all my fault? No, no. Aella may have been my past but she is not me. What I don’t understand is how this is even possible. How can my past be her, but I’m not even from Thedas?_

Maybe there was a giant pool of spirits that fed all the worlds and dimensions, and they crossed universes all the time. Or perhaps whatever, or whoever, had brought her here had sent her to Earth in the first place. Was that why she didn’t have parents? Because she was brought there as an infant? Did that mean- Were her parents alive, here? Did she have a family in Thedas that had their baby girl spirited away at some point, almost 30 years ago? _This is some serious Superman level shit_ , she snorted, leaning against the battlement wall, her eyes roving over the snowcapped peaks in the distance. _Except no spaceship and no Fortress of Solitude with a nifty hologram to explain everything to me. Also, no flying. Flying would be neat._

Shaking her head to clear it of images of her in blue and red spandex, Aislinn drummed her fingers on the cold stone. She needed to call a war room meeting. Explain what she saw to her advisors. Somehow, tell them that their Chantry and the Chant was wrong. The Maker had not cast the intruding magisters out of the Golden City. It was already blackened, a prison for the Old Gods, who had apparently gone mad centuries before. Maybe it was the Maker who locked them behind the gates originally? No way to really tell now. And Dumat had created the first darkspawn, when he found a way back to the real world. How long had the tainted magisters languished in the Black City? How long had Aella’s spell held? A hundred years? A thousand? God, how strong was she, to hold back all seven?

“Inquisitor? Are you well?”

“Cass,” Aislinn offered a weary smile to her friend. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“I’m sure,” the warrior snorted. “What troubles you?”

Fidgeting with her fingers, the mage blew a long stream of air from between pursed lips. “Solas helped me figure out who Aella was.”

“And?”

“And… I need to call a war meeting,” she groaned. “I’m not sure how any of you are going to take this. Come on, let’s go.”

“Me?” Cassandra seemed taken aback. Ever since arriving at Skyhold, the Seeker had retreated from the duties of an advisor, preferring to make use of her skills on the battlefield instead of the warm room.

“Yes, you. I think you’ll be interested in hearing what I have to say. I’ll go get Solas and Cullen, will you send a few runners to the others?”

“Of course,” she nodded before trotting away at a brisk place. Grimacing to herself, Aislinn pushed the door to his office open, stopping short when she found it empty. _Where could he- Oh, that’s right. He’s still out riding with Lochlan. Should I wait? Eh. I’ll just fill him in later._

Leliana and Josephine were already waiting on her by the time she collected Solas and entered the drafty war room, Cassandra leaning against the windowsill with a curious expression on her face. 

“Well,” Aislinn clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Shall we begin?”

***

Stunned silence greeted her story, three sets of eyes wide and barely blinking as Solas crept out, finally done with his part. “So my guess is that after Aella sealed the Magisters Sidereal in the Black City, Dumat found a way back into the real world and started the First Blight. And the rest of the Old Gods escaped soon after. I doubt her binding was very strong since, despite her power, she was only one woman. The seal on the gates was ancient, and immense. Once out, Dumat had the power to pass on his taint, infecting others and turning them into darkspawn. Although why the magisters turned into sentient darkspawn is beyond me. Perhaps that was their ‘reward’ he spoke of.”

Leliana braced her arms along the edge of the table, eyes unfocused as she struggled to take in the news. “Everything the Chantry teaches, it’s a lie,” she whispered.

“Does it matter?” Cassandra huffed. “Aislinn didn’t say who sealed Dumat in the Black City. It’s still entirely possible the Maker himself banished the Old Gods there. Maybe it is just the timeline the Chantry erred in. But Aella… Corypheus’ own sister. You were a hero, Inquisitor,” she smiled gently.

“One forgotten by time,” Josephine sighed, wistful and melancholy. “No one even knew of her sacrifice.”

“We do,” Leliana’s head snapped up. “You are right, Cassandra. My faith in the Maker and his Bride has nothing to do with what the Chantry preaches. How much else did they get wrong?”

“Oh, one more thing before we dismiss,” a sly grin spread across Aislinn’s face. “Marcella, Aella’s lover. I recognized her aura. Her spirit is like mine, bound to the Fade and destined to reincarnate.”

“The Commander?” The spymaster smirked.

“Hardly,” the Inquisitor scoffed. “She’s standing right here. Cassandra,” she stifled a giggle at the Seeker’s stunned expression. “Or should I say, Marci.”

Snapping her mouth closed, Cassandra blinked several times to clear her mind of the shock. Then snorted. “She was right. That is a terrible nickname.”

“Oh, Cassie, don’t be like that!”

“I will stab you, Inquisitor or no.”

“So Marcella must also have done something extraordinary,” Josephine mused. “I wonder if we could find out? So much was lost during the first two Blights.”

“We should also try to find out more about Corypheus, who he was before,” Leliana nodded. “Perhaps Dorian has some resources in Tevinter we can utilize.”

 _Now is not the time to ask her to find out if you have a family_ , Aislinn had to physically restrain herself from blurting out the need that had only grown within her since she had thought of it. _They have enough on their plates, after what you just sprung on them. There will be time later to look into it_. “Excellent. Please let me know if you find anything.”

“Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry-” The door swung open with a loud crash, an unusually disheveled Commander stumbling into the war room. His skin was ruddy from the exposure to the sun and the wind burn, a thin layer of sweat coating his face, golden hair gently curling. “I just got back in,” he muttered sheepishly.

“How was your ride?” Leliana grinned.

“It was pleasant,” he responded, reverting back to his professional stance.

“Well, you missed everything Commander,” Aislinn shuffled the papers in her hand, and tried not to giggle at his pained wince. “Come on, I’m starving. We’ll grab supper and I’ll fill you in.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Meekly, he followed her out, pausing a few steps behind her as she beckoned a servant and requested a meal in the Commander’s office, trying to keep his eyes away from her shapely rear and failing miserably. 

“-you want?”

“I-Inquisitor?” His ears burned a bright red. Oh there were definitely things he wanted.

“I said, was there anything in particular you wanted? With your meal?” A tiny smirk played at the corner of her lips, as if she knew the exact cause of his distraction.

“Ah, no,” he rubbed the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment. "Whatever they send will suffice.”

“Mmkay. So how was your day?”

“It was-” Brilliant? Peaceful? Fun? The happiest day he had had in years? “Nice.”

“I’m glad. I was surprised you took off the day for him, to be honest. But I know it made him so happy.” As she turned back in his doorway to smile at him, Cullen felt his heart stop.

“It made me happy, too.” He took a heavy step toward her, taking her hand within his. “Linn, you don’t know how much this means to me. To have a second chance with him, to be the father I should have been all along. I swear I will not mess this up again.”

“You know what?" Cocking her head to the side, the silver flecks in her eyes caught the last rays of the setting sun that streamed through his windows. “I believe you.”

He couldn't help himself. “Aislinn,” he rasped, tugging her closer to him.

Her tongue darted out to lick her rosy, plump lips, fanning the fire that was now roaring inside of him. “Cullen, I-” Snaking his hand into her hair, he gently tilted her head up to his, his heart ricocheting off of his ribcage, watching as her eyes darkened with desire and lust. “Cullen,” she whispered, her face a hairsbreadth away from his own.

“Linn, please-”

“ _Yes_.”

The door flew open. Jerking away from him, Aislinn tried to calm her nerves as she stared at the floor, waiting as the servants carried in the evening meal and quickly set it up on the table in the corner of the office, all of them completely oblivious to the tension in the room. Cullen stood, barely breathing, with his fists clenched at his sides. Just a little more, and he would have finally kissed her. It was taking all of his self control not to throw the runners out of his office and off the walls.

Clearing her throat, Aislinn turned her back to him. “Um. Shall we eat? I have a lot to tell you.”

No, he wanted to snarl. There was something else he’d much rather have in his mouth than the damnable food. Her lips, her breasts, every inch of her soft skin, her sweet nectar. “Of course.” Stiffly, he took his seat, trying to hide the proof of his arousal and desire, but given the bright flush of her skin, she had already noticed. 

A few minutes passed in silence as both concentrated on regaining their composure, Aislinn being the one to break the silence. “So, Solas helped me in the Fade earlier. Showed me who Aella was. She was… Corypheus’ sister. And my past self.”

“What?” His fork dropped onto this plate with a loud clatter. “You are- that thing’s sister?”

“Not me. Aella,” she shrugged. “A great act of courage, or a disturbance of the Fade, or something tied her essence to the cycle of reincarnation. Apparently there are a select few who are destined to live and die and live again. Our spirit is the same. But my personality, my life is mine. She was a mage, with the same specializations as me. Infinitely more powerful. Would you like to hear all of it?”

“Please.” This all sounded like insanity to him, but the look on her face told Cullen she believed every word. _The Fade does not lie_ , she had told him once. _Demons lie, spirits may skirt the truth, but the Fade itself always speaks the truth._

The next few hours passed pleasantly, as Aislinn explained what she had witnessed and felt in the Fade, along with the revelation that the Chantry had gotten it all wrong. 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he snorted. “How many others things have they warped over time? So, Aella was the real hero in all of that. And Marcella is Cassandra,” chuckling, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes dancing with mirth. “How did she take that?”

“She agrees with her past self, that cute nicknames are ridiculous,” she grinned. 

“I’d be inclined to agree with her,” he thought about Sera, and her habit of screeching ‘Cully Wully!’ across the training field whenever she got the inkling that he was brooding too much again.

“You call me Linn,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s not _cute_ ,” he replied disdainfully. 

“I always thought it was,” she shrugged elegantly.

A slow smile tugged at the scar on his upper lip. “Well, I shall endeavor to call you Linn more often, then.”

“Please do, Cully Wully.”

“Maker’s breath,” he groaned. “Why do I even bother?”

With a bright laugh, Aislinn drew her knees up to her chest, her eyes sparkling in the low candlelight. “So, tell me what you and Lochlan did today.”

“Nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid, such as discovering ancient secrets," he teased. "Took a picnic out to the meadow just past the valley, slayed a few evil magisters plus seven dragons, if I am to believe the numbers, fourteen giant bears, twenty-one, or was it twenty-two, wyverns, you’ll have to check with him on the exact figures, and we saved a fox from a trap. Um,” he raised his guarded eyes to hers. “He _may_ have brought the fox home.”

“Cullen…”

“He gave me this look, with eyes that were impossibly large,” Cullen exclaimed. “How was I supposed to say no to that?”

“It gets easier with practice,” she said dryly, shaking her head. “At least tell me the fox is in the barn and not nesting in my smalls this time.”

“Blackwall is building it a bed as we speak,” he chuckled. “So you’re not mad at me?”

Well, at least she knew where her son got his pitiful puppy dog eyes. Glaring at the boy’s father, staring into the same soulful expression as Lochlan’s, Aislinn couldn’t help but to smile. “No,” she shook her head. “I’m not mad at you. I would’ve done the same. Speaking of apologies,” she muttered under her breath, inhaling deeply. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For… being a hypocrite,” sighing, she propped her chin on top of her knee. 

“I don’t follow,” he said slowly, confusion written across his face.

Fiddling with a loose thread on her pants, Aislinn studiously avoided his gaze as she answered, “I was thinking today, as I was watching you ride out with Lochlan. How lucky he is to have you and your time, especially right now. I have so much guilt at not being able to be there for him like I should be, but I’m the Inquisitor. I have so much riding on my shoulders, so many reports to write, so many nobles to play nice with and appease, so many rifts to close, and it’s all things _I_ have to do. Which leaves me neglecting Lochlan more often than not. But he has you, and Varric, and Bull, and Blackwall, and everyone else, so it’s not as bad as it could be. And then I realized.” Glancing up at him, her mouth quirked into a wry grimace. “It’s the same when you were in Kirkwall. How busy you were, with your duties you couldn’t neglect, no matter how much you wanted to. And I blamed you so much for just not caring enough, when I knew it wasn’t true, but I was angry and bitter. I get it now. And I’m so sorry. It was unfair of me.”

“Linn, no,” he vehemently shook his head. “It’s not the same, not by a long shot. I was just a templar, tasked with overseeing a city. You have the entire world-”

“But you felt the weight of your duty as keenly as I feel mine,” she interrupted him stubbornly. “If not more. I know you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Duty and honor are the two things you have always lived your life by. You took your responsibility for Kirkwall just as seriously as being Commander, as I take being Inquisitor.” Scowling as he opened his mouth to protest yet again, Aislinn lobbed a bread roll at him. “Oh, shut up and just agree with me already.”

Snapping his mouth shut in surprise, Cullen threw his head back and laughed, loud and deep. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

“Fine,” she muttered. Standing up to stretch, the Commander gazed down at his Inquisitor with an impish grin, earning him a raised eyebrow. Feigning a casualness he did not feel, Cullen sat down on the sofa next to her and carefully draped one arm around her slim shoulders. “Cul-”

“Hush,” he ordered, drawing her closer and tucking her against his side. “There. See? You have nothing to be sorry for. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit pleased that you are seeing my side of it, but the truth remains that I could have done better still. I think I will regret what I did not do for the rest of my life,” he sighed despondently. “But no more. I don’t want to let another moment pass me by, and forever think of ‘what if’. From now on, if I fail, it won’t be for lack of trying. I am done with that part of my past.”

Feeling his fingers curl almost painfully into her upper arm, Aislinn soothingly rubbed his chest, reveling in the feel of his firm muscles through the thin linen shirt he wore, until the pressure he was unconsciously exerting eased. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Aislinn.” His voice dropped an octave, husky and beseeching, igniting the smoldering desire that always teetered on the edge when she was near him. Especially now, curled up like this, the scent and warmth of him enveloping her senses. God, it had been so long since she was with anyone, and for it to be him, now, she was helpless. If she looked into his eyes, she would be lost.

She glanced up. And gasped at the conspicuous sight of his desire, burning in his darkened eyes. “Cullen,” she murmured on an exhale.

“I need you,” he growled into her forehead, his entire body trembling in her arms.

There would be no turning back if she said yes to him. Whatever they had, would start again. Did she trust him? Her heart was screaming yes, begging her to close these last few inches, but her mind, her mind…

The door creaked open slowly, a little curly head peeking inside. “Mama? Are you in here? I’m sleepy. Is it time for my bedtime story?”

Cullen slumped over against her, struggling to control his breathing and regain his composure in front of his son. “It is late,” she agreed, slipping out from under his heavy torso, squeezing his forearm as she stood. “Come say goodnight to your Papa.”

Padding softly across the floor, Lochlan threw his arms around his father and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek, giggling at the prickly sensation against his soft skin. “Night, Papa. Love you.”

“I love you too, pup,” Cullen buried his face into his son’s hair. “Linn-”

Throwing a wink over her shoulder, Aislinn smirked down at his flushed face. “We’ll continue this discussion later, Commander.”

A growl rumbled in his chest as he watched her hips sway, the movements deliberate and exaggerated as she stepped out of his office. The little minx, he should follow her and teach her a lesson for daring to tease him. Later, she had said. Huffing a breath and glaring down at his straining erection, he let his head fall forward into the table, the thud echoing through the empty office. Maker’s breath. He was not a green lad. Another day or two wouldn’t kill him.

_I think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World of Thedas says Corypheus fell to Thedas in -191 Ancient, where he was captured and imprisoned by Grey Wardens in -189. So Aella's spell held for just over 200 years. I theorize that when her spell weakened, the magisters were able to escape, along with the other Old Gods, who immediately traveled to the Deep Roads to lay dormant there and recover their power. As for who originally imprisoned them Old Gods there... :). That may or may not appear later. I bet Mythal has an idea.
> 
> Will there be smut next time? Or does the author plan to torture her readers more? *rubs hand and cackles like a magister with a license*


	31. Proposals

The loud crack of wood on wood resounded through the yard, the murmurs of the crowd growing louder as the two opponents whirled away from each other yet again. Ignoring the lock of hair that had managed to wiggle free of her bun and plaster itself to her sweat soaked face, Aislinn tightened her grip on her staff, remembering to keep her wrists loose and pliant. From across the circle, the Iron Bull nodded at her once, before charging straight for her, his wooden axe held aloft as his boots kicked up a swirling cloud of dust. A year ago, she would have cowered in terror at the sight of the massive Qunari bearing down on her. Today? She merely waited patiently, deftly rolling out of his path at the last possible second before springing up to her feet and bringing the end of her staff down hard across the back of his knees.

Grunting, the Iron Bull stumbled, flashing her a grin as he whipped his bulk around to face her. “Good,” he grinned fiercely at her. “Getting better. Let’s take a break.”

With an overly exaggerated groan, Aislinn threw herself across the top railing of the fence, dumping the cup of water someone offered her over her flushed face. “I’m going to feel this for the next week.” In addition to all of her other magical training, the warriors in her inner circle had all insisted she learn to fight without the use of her magic, just in case. So four days a week for the past couple of months, she had rotated through her companions, learning to use her staff and the daggers she always kept hidden in her boots, pushing herself until she was at least adept and no longer at risk of stabbing herself with her clumsiness.

“Meh, you’ll be fine. I think the Seeker has your next training, right?”

“I’m going to die. I am going to literally just pass out from sheer exhaustion, and die.” Of all of her trainers, Cassandra was the worst. Personally, Aislinn believed her friend was trying to get her back from calling her Cassie at every opportunity. Maybe she should stop, out of sheer self preservation.

“Inquisitor? You’re needed in the war room.”

“Of course I am,” muttering under her breath, she nodded at the runner. “Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I’ve had a chance to freshen up.”

Grumbling the entire long climb up through the main hall and to her room, _why the fuck aren’t elevators a thing here yet, we have fucking magic_ , she quickly stripped out of her wet clothing and scrubbed herself down, wiping the layers of sweat and dirt from her tender flesh. Only a quarter of an hour had passed by the time she dragged herself into the room where her advisors stood, an amused expression on each of their faces. “Bull,” was the only explanation she gave as she limped into her normal place.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine cleared her throat. “I have some correspondence that you should take a look at. Several of the nobility-” Aislinn groaned. “Have expressed an interest in obtaining your hand in marriage.”

Cullen’s head jerked up, his eyes narrowing at the ambassador. “I hardly see how this has any bearing on our mission.”

“On the contrary, Commander,” Leliana interjected smoothly. “A strategic alliance could bring the Inquisition much in the way of resources that would otherwise be costly to obtain.”

“So what, I’m whoring myself out for cheaper veridium?” Snorting, the Inquisitor shook her head. “I thought the nobility didn’t like magic tainting their precious bloodlines anyhow.”

“Normally, they do not. However, given your recent success at Halamshiral and Adamant, and your level of prestige and power throughout Orlais,” Josephine shrugged. “Allowances are being made.”

“This is ridiculous,” she sighed. “I have a son. I will not marry a man who might treat him as anything less than his own flesh and blood, something I highly doubt any noble would do.” _Besides Alistair, but he was special._

“You shouldn’t marry anyone just for the sake of resources anyhow,” Cullen retorted. “I can’t believe we’re even discussing this.”

“Just,” the ambassador held up a pleading hand. “Think about it, Inquisitor. And about your son. Of course, I would weed out any suitors that you would find unsuitable. But this could end well for you. The life of a lady, secure, provided for. There will be a life for you after this is all over. You need not have to worry about your future this way.”

“The Inquisition won’t last forever, Aislinn,” the spymaster murmured.

Frowning, Aislinn stared at the map. What would she do after the Inquisition was over, anyways? Go back to working as a healer? She couldn’t return to Denerim and the palace, that was certain. Settle down in some small village, just her and Lochlan? That had been her original plan, hadn’t it? What was so wrong with that? What was Cullen planning to do? Taking in the stubborn set of the other two women’s faces, she sighed, knowing a lost cause when it smacked her in the face. “I’ll think about it. What else do we have to discuss?”

Shuffling the papers in his hand, Cullen glared at his neat penmanship. “We’re closing in on Samson’s lair, based on the flow of red lyrium through Orlais. The location of his base should be known to us hopefully sometime soon, then we will be prepared to launch an attack.”

“Also, my scouts have found some points of interest in the Hissing Wastes. Scattered camps of Venatori and red templars have been spotted, as well as dwarven ruins above the surface. They are looking for something. It might be worth a visit, if only to stop their progress,” Leliana added.

Another desert. Just lovely. “Can it wait a few more weeks? There’s a village near the Kocari Wilds that have reported a rift, and I was planning on traveling there next week to close it. After a short layover back here, I can head west.”

“That will be more than acceptable,” Leliana nodded.

“I’ll have a few proposals sent up to your room later this evening,” the ambassador furiously scribbled away on her writing board. “With a summary of each lord. There are several barons and comtes, a few marquis, and even one duke. Not to mention the rumor that Gaspard himself plans to make an offer for your hand.”

“Right,” Aislinn laughed. “Like I would ever say yes to that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Cullen’s hand relaxing by the slightest fraction at her derision. “Alright, if that’s all, I’d like to go take an actual bath now. And eat.”

“Enjoy your bath, Inquisitor.”

*** 

Aislinn scowled at the papers scattered across her lap. This one, a sixty year old comte who had already lost three wives and was looking for a fourth. Another, a ladder climbing baron who only sought more power for himself. And this one, the duke- she was torn between laughing and vomiting. 

“My lovely Inquisitor,” she read aloud in a mock Orlesian accent. “It should please you to know that I would offer you a position as my bride, a higher honor for one such as you does not exist. By my side, we will be the envy of Thedas, with your grace and beauty and my wit and charm. Dear fucking shit, he may have just wrote ‘You should just be thankful that I, the Maker’s gift to womankind, am even giving you the time of day, you interloping commoner’,” rolling her eyes, she threw that one into the fire. 

Was this all really necessary? Did the Inquisition need whatever materials and manpower a marriage would bring that desperately? Did she need the protection of a noble? The very idea was ludicrous. _I survived quite well as a no name commoner and single mother. A noble couldn’t protect me and my son any better than I could myself_ , she scoffed. And besides, what about Cullen? It was obvious he was still interested in her, that girl he had sought temporary relief with nothing more than a passing fling. 

What did she want? If she restarted a relationship again with him… Things would be different this time. So much had changed, both in his personality and habits as well as her. They had both grown, matured, transformed for the better. Hadn’t they? And Lochlan… A real family. The three of them, together finally as it was supposed to be. 

Ugh, her head was pounding. Tossing the rest of the marriage proposals into the crackling hearth, Aislinn stretched her sore muscles. _Cullen’s probably still awake and working. Maybe he’s up for a game of chess. And where is my son?_

Lochlan, as it turned out, was eagerly perched on Blackwall’s knee in the tavern, listening rapturously to one of Varric’s wild tales. Knowing her son was safe with them, she left the rowdy building, climbing up the stairs to the battlements and making for Cullen’s tower.

Just in time to see a woman readjust her overflowing cleavage, and slip inside first. _No, he wouldn’t. It’s just another girl who thinks he’s fair game still. Still? I suppose he still is._ Laying her hand on the door, Aislinn leaned in, trying to catch a snippet of the conversation within, completely uncaring as to how it looked for the Inquisitor to be eavesdropping on her Commander. All she heard was a low, masculine voice, and a higher pitched giggle.

Fuck.

 _I guess it wasn’t a fling. Was he just playing me then?_ Lost in her spiraling thoughts, Aislinn numbly reentered the keep and slowly dragged herself up the stairs back to her empty room. Maybe she shouldn’t have thrown away those marriage proposals after all. Didn’t Josephine say Gaspard might make an offer? _Surely, if the Grand Duke himself makes a play for my hand, I’ll get at least someone who isn’t a complete idiot who’d want me. Just… someone kind, please. Someone I can talk to._

Grabbing a bottle of wine from her stash, Aislinn slid to the ground outside on her balcony, popped the cork, and took a long swig, staring up at the stars while she slowly drank herself into oblivion. _When will I learn? Maybe it’s the curse of my spirit. Aella didn’t get a happy ending. No one in power really does. The Hero of Ferelden died when she slayed the archdemon. Hawke and Fenris are scattered across Thedas, one in Weisshaupt and the other God knows where. Marriages of alliance. Is that what I’m destined for? A loveless union, made only to secure the interests of my people? Does what I want not matter?_

The moons shone down on her, bright and uncaring as to the anguish that was ripping around her soul. It didn’t matter. She already knew that. As long as Lochlan was safe, and happy, then nothing else mattered.

*** 

Sneezing yet again, Cullen rubbed his nose to clear the air of the overpowering perfume that Rochelle had doused herself in, in another feeble attempt to lure him back to bed. _When will that girl learn_ , he groaned to himself. _I was such an idiot. Maybe this is will be the time she’ll finally realize I’m not going to sleep with her, ever again._

Wearily, he glanced down at the last stack of reports on his desk, the ones that still needed the Inquisitor’s signature. Poking his head out of his door, he saw that the lights were still on in her room, and so he decided to make the trek up there. Leaving his armor in his office, Cullen gathered up the papers and briskly strode across the walls, stifling several yawns as he crept through the empty keep. His brow furrowed when no answer came to his knock. Had she gone to sleep with her light on? 

Slowly, he opened the door, intending only to make sure she and Lochlan were safe and that her candles were safely extinguished before leaving her to her slumber. But she was not in her bed. Nor was Lochlan in his loft. Where was-

Little balls of fire skittered across the balcony, her voice slurring as she sang softly to herself just out of sight. Pushing the glass door open, Cullen peered down at a drunk Aislinn, one empty bottle of wine at her feet and another dangling from her fingertips. “Linn? What are you doing?”

“Drinkin’. What’re you doing here? Thought you’d be with your _friend_ ,” she sneered.

“My friend? What are you talking about?” Crouching next to her, he gently pushed her hair away from her face, ignoring her halfhearted slaps and shoves to his arm.

“That pretty little maid you enjoyed so thoroughly last time. Saw her go into your office earlier. Figured I wouldn’t see you 'til late tomorrow morning at least,” she snorted, averting her eyes so he didn’t see the pain within.

“Ah,” he flinched, sitting heavily on the ground across from her. “You heard about that.”

“Heard? Nah. I saw it with my own two eyes,” grimacing, Aislinn took another long drink from the bottle. “Not enough bleach in Thedas to get rid of that image, unfortunately. Not any bleach here, matter of fact. It’s amazing the entire world hasn’t died from the plague or malaria or the Spanish influenza yet. Or would it be Antivan influenza?”

Shaking his head, Cullen couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was rambling about, so he chose to focus on what he did understand. “You… saw?” A silent swallow was his only response. Groaning, he let his head hit the barrier behind him. “I was... distraught. You were with Alistair that night, and I did not handle it well. That is my fault,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry. But I had, and do not have, any intention of sleeping with her or anyone else again. No one but you, Linn.”

“I didn’t sleep with Alistair that night, you know.” He stiffened. “I haven’t slept with anyone since I left Denerim, before the Conclave. That was the night he ended it with me, and he just held me while I cried. Pathetic, right?” Bringing the bottle to her lips, Aislinn snarled in defeat when she realized it was empty. With a shaky lurch, she clambered to her feet and wobbled into her room, searching for more wine.

“Aislinn.” She froze at his command, at his low and dark tone. “Stop drinking.”

“Go to hell.”

Growling, Cullen lunged across the distance to her, pinning her in place against her bookshelf. “You’ve been with no one else since you’ve been here?”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time, templar?” The silver in her narrowed eyes flashed with indignant irritation. “Now let me go.”

“No,” pressing his body against hers, he nestled his face in the crook of her neck and breathed in the heady scent of her flushed skin. “I am _never_ letting you go again.”

“That’ll make bathroom breaks awkward.”

His ferocious glare had no effect on her hazy mind, so he did the only other thing he could think of. He kissed her. Prying her lips apart with his tongue, letting her feel, taste how much he wanted her, hammering away at her defenses until her body slackened in his grip and she moaned into his mouth. Cullen wanted to shout in triumph when her hands rose to tangle in his hair, one of her legs snaking around his own, her soft whimpers encouraging him. Grabbing her rear, he hoisted her into the air and carried her to the bed, refusing to break the kiss for even a second, groaning as she wrapped both of her legs around his waist, feeling the heat of her core even through her leather leggings against his stomach.

“Aislinn,” he panted into her mouth, “Let me-”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Anything, please, _please_.”

With overeager hands, he ripped the tunic and the breastband underneath that she was wearing in half, flinging the destroyed garments off to the side as she shimmied out of her leggings and smalls. Finally, she was bare to his gaze, familiar and yet new, and Cullen devoured the sight of her. The taut stretch marks on her belly, now long since faded from when he had seen them last. Her perfect breasts, still heavy and soft, the skin of her lean, muscled arms and legs riddled with scars of varying intensity. She was-

“Beautiful,” he murmured, leaning up to recapture her lips. Grinning at her insistent fingers, tugging at his own shirt, he slid the offending fabric over his head, sighing in bliss as she trailed her fingers over his naked chest, licking her lips at the way his muscles flexed beneath her touch. “Like that, do you?”

“I’d like it more pressed against me,” her smile was coy and inviting. Was this really happening? Was this another one of his dreams? 

Cullen hissed as her fingernails dragged along his still clothed erection. No, this was very real. Aislinn was here, naked and willing under him, and… Drunk. He couldn’t do this now, not with her like this. The knowledge was like a load of bricks, filling his stomach. Maker’s breath, what had he been thinking? If he walked away now-

“Cullen,” she wailed in frustration, bucking up against his frozen body. “Please, please, please!”

“Please what?” He couldn’t help himself. He had always been at her mercy when she begged, all previous hesitation quickly fading.

“Touch me!”

Chucking, he ducked his head to her breasts. “As you wish, Inquisitor.” Laving his tongue around one stiff peak, he used his hands to pin her arms in place, slowly torturing both of her nipples with his teeth and lips until they were a bright red from his attention and she was writhing frantically against the sheets. “Maker, I would paint a picture of you like this. So wanton, willing, desperate for my cock inside of you,” he whispered against her stomach. “And so, so wet.”

Sliding down the bed, he shoved her thighs apart and spread her folds, feeling his own cock leaking into his pants at the sight of her, glistening and dripping. It would take almost no effort to make her come. Tentatively licking a stripe up her seam, he was gratified by her instant moan, her body arching off the mattress. The taste was even better than he remembered. Musky, sweet, slightly tangy, and so very addictive. Roughly digging his fingers into the soft skin of her hips, his arms wrapped around her thighs, Cullen buried his face in her heat, drowning in her scent, her slickness, the Maker forsaken sounds she was making as he pushed her up and over the edge, again, and again. And that was with just his mouth. His grin was feral and wild, slanted across her lower lips, a low chuckle escaping him as she flailed in his grip, trying to push him away, trying to drag him closer, deeper. As she came down from her third orgasm, he gave her a wicked grin, knowing the picture he was presenting to her- mussed curls, his chin soaked in her juices, the scar that he knew she loved twisting his lips up.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he purred, sliding a finger into her swollen arousal.

“Shit,” she groaned, needy and low. He could listen to her make these noises all day long. “I can’t, not again, Cullen-”

“Hush, love,” crooking his finger in that sweet spot within her, he added another digit. “You can. I want to hear you scream my name, sweetling. And I’m not stopping until you do.”

“You,” she gasped, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Fuck.”

“Come for me, Linn,” he growled, pumping his fingers faster and latching his lips over her swollen pearl. His cock ground into the bed, trying to find some friction to relieve the ache in his balls. Oh how he wished he could free it from its confines, bury himself in her sheath.

“Cullen!” Her shriek echoed off the walls, electricity racing across both of their sweaty bodies. He moaned as her walls convulsed around his hand, so tight and hot, her cunt flooding him with even more of her cream as she peaked for him yet again. Eagerly, he lapped up every drop, slowly stilling his fingers bit by bit until she was limp against the sheets.

“How was that?” His smirk reeked of smugness and pure masculine pride.

“Ask me again when I can make sentences,” she mumbled. Glancing down, her eyes widened at the sight of his cock, still straining against the soft fabric of his pants. “Cullen…”

“No,” he shook his head at the questioning lilt of her voice. “Not tonight.”

“Please, lover,” she murmured. “I want to feel you inside of me. Fuck me, please.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, it took all of his willpower to not slam himself into her at her gentle entreaty. Take her, as his body was demanding him to do. Claim her, remind her that she was his. As he would be hers, for the rest of his life. 

“No, Aislinn,” his eyes were bright and intent as he stared down into her glassy gaze. “You are drunk. The next time we make love, the first time in years when I finally take you and bury myself inside of you, I want you to be completely sober. I want you to remember every detail, be present for every little moan and whimper and spark of pleasure. I want to know that you want this too, with every fiber of your being. Because once I finally have you back, I am never letting you go again, not for anything or anyone,” he nuzzled the velvet undersides of her breasts. “I- I love you, Aislinn. I have always loved you, even when I thought things were hopeless between us. I know I am not worthy of your love, but-" sucking in a deep breath, he sent up a quick prayer that she would believe him. "I swear by my honor and the Maker and my own soul that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the man you deserve. Please,” he couldn’t even look her in the face right now, terrified of what he might see. “Give me another chance, love.”

“Cullen,” gently, she wrapped her arms around his head, running her fingernails over his scalp and through his hair. “Give me time to think? I think you’re right. I should be sober for this conversation.”

“I know,” he mumbled into her chest. “I couldn’t wait though.”

He felt, rather than saw, her smile. “Thank you,” Aislinn whispered.

“Anything for you.”

And for the first time in years, she believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smutty shenanigans!


	32. Errands

The first thing Aislinn was aware of was that she was naked, and freezing. With a hoarse groan, she pushed herself up in her bed, she blinked bleary eyes as she cast a small spell to ease the worst of her headache. Cullen was gone, her discarded clothes from last night neatly draped over a chair, and upstairs was only an empty, dark loft. Had Lochlan not come up to bed last night? Although, considering what she had been doing, it was probably for the best.

Cullen. God, she had almost forgotten what it was like with him, his warm, firm skin against hers, the way he still knew her body like the back of his hand. Closing her eyes, she let herself indulge a few more minutes in the memories of the previous night, picturing his muscled frame looming over hers, that sinful tongue bringing her to heaven over and over again. A second chance. It would be so easy to say yes, wouldn’t it? Hadn’t he proved himself over the last year, always making time for her and Lochlan no matter how busy he was? 

_Who do you trust the most here?_

_I trust all my companions_ , she told the little voice in her head.

_But who do you run to first, whenever you have a problem? Or good news? Whose advice do you take to heart the most? Whose smile lights up your day whenever you see it?_

Cullen. It was always Cullen. No matter what, he was the first person she sought every time she entered the war room, his little smirk and nod always lifting her spirits. On the days they met for their chess games, she would walk around Skyhold with a lighter step, eagerly looking forward to spending time with the man, to teasing him, to making him blush and laugh. A second chance. She could do that.

Giggling to herself, her belly warming with anticipation, Aislinn quickly dressed and brushed her hair out, pulling it up into a loose bun, and practically sprinted from her room, determined to find her Commander as soon as possible. But first, she really should find out where her son had slept last night. _The stables, probably, with that damn fox_. Lochlan had been spending every second of his spare time since he had brought the tiny, injured creature home with it in the barn.

And that’s exactly where she found him. Except all was not well.

“Mama!” The boy came flying out into the courtyard as soon as he caught a glimpse of her, hay scattering behind him, falling from his hair and clothes. “I didn’t do anything, I promise,” he sobbed into her shirt, clutching her tightly.

“Do what, sweetheart? Hey, it’s okay. Talk to me.” Brushing straw from his face, Aislinn cupped his jaw and tilted his face up. “What’s wrong, love?”

“B-B-Blackwall,” he wailed. “He’s _gone_.”

“Inquisitor,” her head snapped up as a scout approached her, a piece of parchment in his hand. “We found this in the Warden’s quarters.”

Taking the note, Aislinn quickly scanned it. “Lieutenant Cyril Mornay, one of the soldiers responsible for the Callier Massacre of 9:37 was captured in Lydes. His Captain, Thom Rainier, remains at large. Mornay is to be executed within the week in Val Royeaux. Did Blackwall know this Mornay?”

“No idea, Your Worship. This note was taken from Sister Nightingale’s files, presumably by the Warden.”

Lochlan’s arms tightened around her waist. “You didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Scout… Maneau, was it? Please go fetch the Seeker, Sera, and the Iron Bull for me. Tell them to prepare to travel to Val Royeaux, immediately.”

“At once, Inquisitor.”

Kneeling in front of her son, Aislinn withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiped off his grimy face. “It’ll be okay, Loch. I’m going to go to Orlais and bring him back, okay?” He nodded. “Just make sure the barn stays clean for him, and keep taking care of your fox. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mimolettte.”

“What?”

“I named her Mimolette,” he sniffed, rubbing his cheeks. “Mimo, for short. It was Alistair’s favorite type of cheese.”

“Oh, sweetie, come here,” sighing, she pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly against her. “You miss him a lot, huh. Are you still writing to him?”

“Uh huh,” she felt his head bob on her shoulder. “He misses you, too. But if we went back, Papa would miss us both.”

“I know, love.” Resting her cheek on his head, AIslinn closed her eyes. “It’s complicated, on all sides.”

“Do you still love Alistair?”

“I… do. But it’s not the same as it was. He’s a king, Lochlan, and I’m a mage. Kings don’t marry mages.”

“What about Papa? Don’t you love him?”

“I do,” she smiled, pulling him away. 

“Then why don’t you marry him?” His nose scrunched up as he stared up at her expectantly. “Is that complicated, too?”

“It is,” she laughed. “But we’re working on it, okay? These things take time. And definitely can’t be decided with stinky little boys running around.” Giggling as he squirmed away from her tickling fingers, he grinned up at her. “Let’s go inside and you can have a bath while I pack, okay? And you can tell me more about Mimo.”

Pausing once on the way up to find a messenger to ask Leliana to stop by her room, Aislinn got Lochlan settled into a bath as she threw clothes and other supplies onto her bed. With all the traveling she constantly did these days, she was an expert packer by now, able to live out of her leather satchel for weeks. At least Val Royeaux wasn’t too far away.

“Come in,” she called out to the knock on her door.

“Hey, Boss,” the Iron Bull poked his head over the railing. “I have an interesting proposition for you.”

“My answer still hasn’t changed from last time,” she snorted, rolling up a tunic. “And not in front of my son, if you please.”

“Oh, hey kid,” the Qunari grinned, Lochlan waving from the small bathing chamber. “Wasn’t talking about that, but still, if you ever change your mind…”

“Bull.”

“Right, right. So the Qun don’t like this whole mess with Corypheus, the Venatori, or red lyrium. They want to work with you.”

“An alliance?” Surprised, Aislinn glanced up. “Do the Qun even do alliances?”

“Not until you,” he shrugged. “The Ben-Hassrath reports I’ve been getting indicate a massive red lyrium shipment coming in, off the Storm Coast. Want us to take it down together, even bringing in one our dreadnoughts. Just us, the Chargers, maybe some backup, nothing too big so we can avoid tipping them off. This could be a good thing for you. More naval power, more reports.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled,” she noted the flat tone of his voice, not animated like she was used to hearing from the jovial man.

“No, I’m good, it’s just uh…” he shook his head. “I’m used to them being over there. Not here.”

“Been awhile?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “So, up for it?”

“When is it? We have to go to Val Royeaux first,” she motioned at the clothes scattered across her bed. “So we couldn’t get to the Storm coast until at the very least two weeks from now, and that’s providing everything goes well.”

“No worries. The shipment is scheduled for almost three weeks from now. We got time, Boss.”

“Sure, why not. Although I don’t have the best feeling about this,” frowning, she crossed her arms, her eyes locked on the mercenary in front of her.

“I guess we’ll see. Alright, I’ll go tell Red and Cullen that-”

“Tell me what?” A red haired woman peeked over the carved railing into the room.

“The Qun alliance I was telling you about,” the Iron Bull called back to the spymaster. “Boss says we’re gonna go.”

“After Val Royeaux.” Nodding to the Qunari as he left, Aislinn turned her attention on Leliana, who was waiting with her hands clasped softly behind her back. “Anything else on Blackwall’s disappearance?”

“We know he’s in Val Royeaux,” a slight crease marred her pale brow. “And he left directly after finding that note about Mornay. As for his motivations, I do not know.” Clearly frustrated with her lack of understanding, Leliana scowled at her boots. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m packed, and the others are ready,” shoving the last of her gear into the leather bag, Aislinn groaned, and flopped over onto her bed. “Stupid Storm Coast. Why does it have to be that coast? Couldn’t the Venatori have picked a drier locale?”

“I’ll send a note to Corypheus,” Leliana remarked dryly. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Hello, Lochlan,” both of the women chuckled as the boy marched out of the little bathing room, dripping wet.

“T-towel, please,” he chattered, then sighed in happiness as his mother ran a heat spell over him, drying his hair and skin instantly. “Hi, Sister Leliana!”

“How is the fox?” 

Scampering up his ladder, Lochlan shouted down, “I named her Mimo! Her leg is almost all better now. She was having a nightmare last night, so I stayed with her. She sleeps better like that. But Mama won’t let me bring her up here.”

“Thanks for the guilt trip, kid,” Aislinn mumbled under her breath to the sound of Leliana’s muffled giggles. 

“Aw, Inquisitor-”

“ _No_ , Leliana. Do you remember what happened to that family of nugs? I had to throw an entire drawer of clothes out. Silk clothes. Josephine just about murdered me. If you can train the fox to only use the privy in certain areas, then she can come inside. Otherwise, no.”

“Fine,” he grumbled as he slid back down to the ground.

“Don’t you have lessons to attend, by the way?”

“Yup,” he chirped, leaping up to kiss his mother on the cheek. “Bye, Mama!”

“That child,” she huffed.

“He takes after his father,” the spymaster noted with a smirk. “All that natural charm that he’s not even aware of.”

“Oh, he’s aware of it, believe me,” Aislinn laughed. “Uses it against me all the time. Actually, his father does the same. Alright. I need to go see if the others are ready.”

“Safe travels, Inquisitor.”

Swinging her pack up onto her shoulders, the Inquisitor followed her spymaster out back down into the main hall, tossing a wave to Varric as she passed and headed towards Cullen’s tower.

“Hey,” she smiled as he glanced up from his desk, his eyes crinkling as he smirked up at her. “I, uh.” _God, I can barely even look at him after last night._ Fighting the rising blush on her skin, Aislinn stared down at the stone floor, poking a dust bunny with her toe. “Did you hear about Blackwall? The Qun alliance?”

“I did,” slowly, he walked over to her, stopping less than an arm’s length away. “So you’ll be gone for about a month?”

“If all goes well,” she gazed up into his warm, amber eyes, feeling her pulse quicken as his bare hand grazed her cheek. “Cullen, about what you asked last night, I decided-”

“Tell me when you get back,” he murmured. “I want you to have plenty of time to think about this, because once you decide, there will be no going back. I meant what I said, Aislinn. I will never let you go again once you are mine again, and that is a promise I intend to keep, no matter if I have to move heaven and the Void to do it.”

“Yours,” she breathed.

“Just as I have always been yours,” his lips brushed her forehead.

Biting her lip, Aislinn smiled coyly up at him, Cullen raising an eyebrow in question. “Could I have a kiss before I go? To tide me over until I come back?”

“Linn,” he growled, yanking her against his breastplate. Damn his armor. Why was he wearing the blasted thing again?

“Please,” she whispered. “I need to know last night really happened.”

She needed to know? Maker, he was certain it was all a dream still. But standing here, with her in his arms, begging for a kiss- no, it had to have been real. Sucking a deep breath in, Cullen lowered his head, bringing his lips to hers in a featherlight kiss, smirking as her head jerked forward to prolong the contact.

“More,” she demanded.

With a deep groan, he grabbed her rear and hauled her bottom up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he stumbled towards the nearest door and pushed her up against it, pinning her in place. Her mouth was heaven, warm and sweet, the burning ache in his chest intensifying by the second as they took turns nipping at each other’s lips, tasting and biting and whimpering, both of them losing themselves in their swirling emotions. Bringing her hands up to his hair, Aislinn ran her fingernails over his scalp, smiling against his skin as he hissed his pleasure, and moaned into her.

“Minx,” he muttered. His scar twisted up into a smirk as he ground his erection against her core, feeling the heat of her even through the layers of cotton and leather separating them.

“Ungh, Cullen,” she yanked sharply on his curls. Fuck, he could barely breathe. What had he been saying about waiting until she came back? He must be more lyrium addled than he thought. She wanted him, here and now, that much was obvious even to him. Raising his fingers to the laces of her breeches, he tugged them loose.

“Maker’s breath, Linn,” he panted into her mouth. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Yes,” she pleaded. “Please, please, I need you.”

“Oy, there you are. Been looking- ah! Fuck, mates. Put a sign on the door or something next time, will ya?”

“Sera?!”

“Didn’t see nothing!” The elf sprinted back out the opposite door, cackling as she ran.

“I am going to kill her,” Aislinn snarled, glaring daggers through the door as Cullen chuckled wryly at her.

“It’s ok, sweetling. I want to wait anyways. I want to have the entire night before us, not to rut you like an animal against the wall,” his darkened eyes danced with lust and mirth as he watched her pull herself back together.

“We could have done both,” she pouted, retying her laces.

Looming over her until his lips were right by her ear, he growled, “I’ll make it up to you when you come back.” Aislinn shivered.

“I better get going then. Sooner I leave, sooner I can come back.”

With an impish grin, Cullen gripped her toned ass firmly. “If you please, Inquisitor. Safe travels.”

“I hate you,” she grumbled. “You are an evil man.”

“You like it,” he replied, but the nervous twitch in his face belied his spoken confidence.

Reaching up to stroke the stubble on his cheek, Aislinn smiled sweetly up at him. “I do. See you in a bit, Commander.”

Slumping over his desk as she closed the door behind him, Cullen groaned to himself. The hell was he thinking? He could have had her here, now. Was he a masochist? Maker… This was going to be a long, long month.

*** 

“Fuck.” The Iron Bull stood motionless on the edge of the cliff, watching as the remaining pieces of the Qunari dreadnought slowly slipped beneath under the surface of the rough waves.

“You would throw away all that you are, for what, Hissrad? For them?” Their Qun contact, an elf called Gatt, paced in frustration as he glared at Aislinn.

“His name,” she took a snarling step toward the Qunari agent, “Is the Iron Bull.”

Gatt’s shoulders drooped, his head shaking in defeat. “I suppose it is.”

Watching him slink away, Aislinn turned her attention back to the Venatori ship, still afloat out at sea, a few fires just barely visible through the heavy mist and rain. _They’re getting away. All that red lyrium on board, all those lives lost..._

No. She had to do something. _Anything_. Clenching her fists at her sides, the Inquisitor closed her eyes, reached inside of her mana, and pulled. Something snapped. Waves of pure ether crashed over her. It felt as if a dam broke loose, and the water was drowning her, pulling her under, dragging her down to the depths of the abyss. Except instead of a river or an ocean, it was sheer _power_ , coursing through her blood in a maelstrom of mana and electricity. Inhaling a gasp, Aislinn’s eyes focused sharply on the fleeing vessel. She could swear she could see the individual nails that held the wood together, smell the turpentine that coated the hull.

“Boss?”

Lightning erupted from the clouds above, and arced down to the ocean's surface, and _shattered_ the ship, cracking it open from the inside like an egg. Below where she stood, on the shore, the Venatori mages scrambled to see where the spell had been cast from, their necks craning to and fro, until one spotted her.

“There! Up on the cliff!”

It was as if she watched from behind a frost covered window, the shapes visible but features indistinct. Flicking her wrist casually, she stared emotionlessly as the mages were thrown up into the air, their bodies slamming back down a few hundred yards out into the unforgiving sea. 

“Boss.”

A firm hand gripped her shoulder. Shaking her head to dispel the cobwebs that it was suddenly stuffed with, Aislinn blinked, wiping the rain from her face. “What happened?”

“For one, you just blew up a ship,” he frowned down at her bewildered state. “Second, your eyes. There’s a silver ring around them now, did you know that?”

“What? A ring?” What had happened to the flecks?

“Yeah, on the outside of your irises. You okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” she replied wryly, shaking her head. “Let’s... let's go get your boys and go back. I’m suddenly exhausted.”

“That was one hell of a show,” he glanced back out at the water, no trace of the battle left besides a few floating planks of wood.

“I don’t even know what the hell just happened,” rubbing her temples, Aislinn dragged herself back down the slippery slope, relying on Bull’s steady arm to keep her upright until they made it back to camp, all but collapsing in her tent as soon as she stumbled in.

What was that? All that power she felt? Holding her hands up above her face, she twisted them around but nothing was different. The mark was there, dormant as it usually was this far away from any rifts. And her eyes… Silver. Aella’s eyes were silver, the color of lightning hidden behind storm clouds. Was this… hers? The mage had been extremely powerful. Was she somehow channeling her previous self? Was that even possible?

“Inquisitor,” a muffled voice called from outside of her tent. “I have several urgent letters from the ambassador for you.”

“Can you bring them in?” She barely had the energy left to sit up. All of that sudden influx of magic had taken its toll on her body. _Looks like I’m in for more training. Yay._ Taking the bundle of scrolls from the scout, Aislinn tore the first one open, propping herself up on her side to read. “More marriage proposals? This is urgent? For fuck’s sake… Gaspard sent his in, of course he did, the slimy eel. Duke Laurent de Ghislain- isn’t that Vivienne’s former lover’s son? And Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven? Doesn’t Varric know him? A merchant prince, Lord Rafael Cardona, of Antiva. Well damn. I’m getting the good ones now,” she snorted at the mere thought of her becoming a… duchess? Princess? “‘And one proposal in particular I think you will be quite interested in,’” Aislinn read Josephine’s last words. _A proposal I’d be interested in. Only man I’m currently interested in now is-_

The last letter fell out of the stack, the parchment balancing innocently on her thigh. The wax bore the seal of House Theirin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *author runs and hides*


	33. Lost

_Aislinn,_

_Or should I be addressing this to the Inquisitor? I never really know. Is this a professional letter? Personal? I’m going to go with personal, I hope you don’t mind. Writing properly has never been one of my strong suits, as I’m sure you know. Maker, did you see that letter I sent to your ambassador that I had transcribed? It was a mess, although I imagine you got a laugh out of it at least. Or I hope you did._

_And I’m rambling. Sorry. I know it’s been nine months since we spoke last, so this letter might be a bit awkward. As if I’m ever smooth. But the point is this- Your victories in Orlais and Adamant have not gone unnoticed, even out here in backwater Denerim. The fact that you brought the Empress herself to heel and resolved their civil war almost single handedly, well, if I didn’t adore you before, I most certainly do now. Word has reached me, and my advisors, that you are currently being bombarded with marriage proposals from every two bit noble that’s even slightly single, including the Grand Duke himself. I hope you’re not considering him, are you?_

_It makes my council nervous, the idea of the Inquisition being allied with Orlais in such a manner, especially with your recent exponential growth in power and status. You have truly built a force to be reckoned with, Linn. I’m so proud of you. And so, they have proposed another solution- an alliance with Ferelden, instead._

_Or to be more specific, me. Ah, marriage that is. With me. To me? Maker, I’m bad at this. Believe you me, I had words with my cabinet about why they couldn’t have just let me marry you months ago, but I digress. I would like the chance to ask you in person, at the very least. I don’t know how you still feel about me, about us, but… I still love you. Miss you every day, as well as Lochlan. I hadn’t realized how much the pair of you brightened up my life until you were both gone from it._

_I should arrive at Skyhold around the first of Justinian, with a small retinue. Or as small as I’m being allowed to leave with. I can’t wait to see you again, and I can only pray you feel the same._

_With all my heart,_

_Alistair_

_(Theirin, king of Ferelden, blah blah)_

She had his letter memorized by the time she returned to Skyhold. The trip back had passed in a blur, hardly a word coming from her mouth besides what was strictly necessary. Even Sera had finally given up trying to get her to speak. Only Cassandra knew the extent of her inner turmoil, having read the letter herself.

Alistair was coming to Skyhold. To propose. To _her_. This was… She wasn’t sure yet. Closing her eyes, she could still picture his cheeky grin, hear his bright laugh, see the wrinkles around his eyes crinkle as he teased her. But when she tried to recall the nights spent with him, all she could think of was Cullen. Her templar’s arms around her, holding her close, whispering words of lust and love in her ears.

God, what was she going to do? What would Lochlan want? Her son loved both men, perhaps equally. This was an epic disaster. Now, of all times, when she and Cullen were finally so close to resolving their distance. Well, couldn’t she still do that? Ignore all the proposals and go on with her life, with Cullen?

Could she look Alistair in the eye and tell him she chose Cullen instead? After everything the king had been through, how lonely she knew he was, how kind and sweet and gentle he treated her… Hell, could she do the same to Cullen? Hurting either of them was the last thing she wanted to do. She could see it already: Alistair would accept her decision gracefully, but that pain she saw the last time they were together- it would return tenfold. And Cullen would just close himself off from everyone and everything again. Hate her, probably. His withdrawals would get worse. And it would be all her fault.

Did she even want to be queen? Of an entire country? At least as Inquisitor, she had time away from the nobility to just relax and be herself with her friends in the field. As queen, there would be no escape. But then again, Alistair also had no escape. Until he found her.

Tears burned at her eyes as she approached the bridge into Skyhold. Side eyeing the Inquisitor, Cassandra pulled her horse up closer to Aislinn’s.

“Whatever happens, it will be okay. One way or the other.”

“You don’t know that,” she shook her head sadly. “It could blow up in my face. Either way, someone is getting hurt. I don’t know if I can live with that. Maybe I should just refuse them all. Stay single. It would better that way, wouldn’t it?”

“Safer, perhaps, but not better,” the Seeker murmured. “You don’t have to decide today, at any rate. Take some time to yourself, figure out what you truly want, Aislinn. This is your life, too. The Inquisition may be important, but it does not own your heart or soul.”

“Thanks, Cassi.”

“I take back everything I just said.”

The barest hint of a smile fluttered at her lips as they entered the courtyard, where her advisors stood waiting on the lower steps. “Inquisitor,” they bowed.

“Thom,” Josephine cleared her throat, her eyes mysteriously watery, “Thom Rainier is in the dungeons, awaiting your judgement, at your leisure. And, um, I have a list of nobility who will be, oh dear,” a few papers drifted to the ground. “Pardon me, I just-”

“Josie,” Aislinn laid a hand on the Antivan’s arm and squeezed affectionately. “It’s okay.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she sniffed. “What I meant to say, is we are preparing for the arrival of your suitors.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Aislinn stared in horror at the ambassador, the idea of all those dignitaries in Skyhold at once… “Gaspard? Vael? The others?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “It started with Prince Vael, and his intent to come here and propose to you himself, and each has decided to follow suit. They will all be here within the week.”

Risking a glance over at Cullen, Aislinn noticed his face was unusually pale and drawn, his eyes haunted, white knuckles gripping his pommel as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the ground. “Can’t we just tell them all to go back home?”

“These are the most powerful men in Thedas, Inquisitor,” Leliana chided gently. “There really isn’t a thing we can do, except welcome them graciously. The Commander is taking care of security while they are here.”

“How long are they staying, anyways?”

“I would imagine that would be up to you,” Josephine inclined her head in sympathy. “Until you choose a husband.”

“Oh for-” Groaning, Aislinn pinched the bridge of her nose. This day kept getting better and better. “Is there anything else pressing that we need to discuss right now?”

“No. We can meet in the war room later for the debriefing.” Nodding to her advisors, she hefted her satchel onto her back as they turned to go. “Commander, a moment?”

“Perhaps later,” came the terse reply.

“Oh,” casting her eyes towards her feet, she tried to not let her disappointment show. Had he changed his mind about them? “I’ll… see you later, then.”

Checking in quickly with Lochlan, who was drawing contentedly in Solas’ room, trying to emulate the murals on the walls, AIslinn headed up to her room for a long bath and some food. She really should schedule Blackwall’s, no, Rainier’s judgement for today but given her current mental state, she wasn’t sure she should be doing anything remotely Inquisitorial. All she wanted to do was eat a pint of ice cream, drink a bottle of wine, and veg out in front of a TV.

How long had it been since she even thought of Earth? Was she that distraught? _But really, ice cream sounds so good right now. Maybe cookies and cream, or strawberry cheesecake. Ughhh, someone invent Oreos here, pleeeease._

Sinking into the steaming copper tub, she gently combed out her braid and slid under the surface so that just her nose and eyes were visible. Letting the heat seep into her sore body, she idly wondered if there was a way to find out how she had ended up here. Were all the worlds linked? Was Earth and Thedas on the same plane or dimension or whatever? Was the cycle of reincarnation linked between the worlds? How else could she explain how her past life was Thedosian, but she was not? And her parents… Who were they really? Were they normal humans, or reincarnations of spirits as well? She was always told she was half Asian, given her high cheekbones and eye shape, but was she? Cassandra also had similar features, although the Seeker was more fair skinned than she. Did things like that even matter in the cycle? There wasn’t much similarity between her and Aella, besides the eyes that were slowly starting to change. And her power. She could at least ask Solas about that.

This was hopeless. Trying to distract herself from the matter at hand was only proving to give her more of a headache. Grumbling to herself, Aislinn finished scrubbing off the layer of grime and dust from the road and got dressed. 

The rest of the day passed in flurry, as servants rushed around the keep, airing out the best rooms for the incoming royalty, and the Inquisitor forcing herself to put her personal matters aside to sentence, and free Blackwall. Briefly, she thought about sending him to the Grey Wardens after his oath to her was fulfilled, but she didn’t want to make that choice for him. Not for a man that her son looked up to as family. No, whatever he chose to do after the Inquisition had saved the world would be his choice alone. At least Josephine was happy.

“I remember you mentioning the Hissing Wastes, just before I left for Val Royeaux,” Aislinn studied the map in front of her. “Are the Venatori still there?”

“Yes, but-”

“But you cannot leave now, Inquisitor,” Josephine interrupted Leliana, her eyes wide in a panic at the thought of the woman leaving when all her suitors were en route. 

“I also can’t neglect my duty. Corypheus and his minions take precedence over my potential love life, I should think,” Aislinn remarked dryly.

“Well, yes, but-”

“Postponing the trip by a month or so will not have much effect,” Leliana smoothly stepped in. “Whatever they are doing with their excavations, it will take them a great deal of time to complete. We have time.”

Well, there went that hope. “Commander?” Cullen had been conspicuously silent the entire meeting, offering only one or two word answers when he was prompted, the vein in his temple twitching violently.

“I defer to the spymaster on this matter,” he replied stiltedly, as if speaking was causing him extreme effort. “She knows the status of the Venatori’s plans better than I.”

“Right,” Aislinn sighed. “I suppose that’s that, then. Commander, if I might have a word?”

“My apologies Inquisitor, but I’m quite busy at the moment. There are many security details to finalize before the arrival of our guests,” refusing to meet her gaze, Cullen offered her a stiff bow, and stomped out of the war room.

“He’s been like that since Alistair sent his proposal,” Leliana murmured softly. “The two of you were working things out, were you not?”

“We were, but…” Slumping over the polished table, Aislinn released a pitiful whimper. “I don’t know what to do now. I thought it was an easy choice, to be with Cullen again, finally reunite our family but now that Alistair is coming back, to ask me to…”

“You love them both,” Josephine dark brown eyes were warm and full of sympathy.

“I- I _care_ immensely for them both. And so does Lochlan. Both men are his heroes. How am I supposed to choose?”

Leliana smiled gently, and reached out to pat Aislinn’s shoulder. “What does your heart tell you?”

“That I’d rather fight Corypheus right now, by myself, naked, with only a rock, than deal with this,” she mumbled sullenly. “Sorry, I know you’ve both put in a lot of time with this. As has everyone else.”

“Quite alright,” the women nodded in turn.

Aislinn tried for the rest of the evening to forget about the matter, determined to enjoy the last few days of peace before everything went to hell. With Lochlan snuggled up against her side, she nursed a glass of wine later that evening as she listened to one of Varric’s stories, soaking in the warmth from the hearth and the easy conversation.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” The bench creaked as the Iron Bull settled his weight next to hers, a mug of ale in one hand.

“Bet you do too.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, long and deep, stretching his neck up to stare at the ceiling. “Tal-Va-fucking-shoth.”

“You don’t need to Qun to tell you how to live your life, Bull,” Aislinn said quietly. “I think you’ve been doing just fine on your own. You’ve got a team, a family that loves you and would follow you to the ends of the world. Your life has meaning and purpose, no matter what the Qun says.”

“Maybe. I just always saw the Tal-Vashoth as nothing more than animals. And now I’m one of them.”

“There are animals among all men and women. Social status and race has nothing to do with that,” she snorted into her wine.

“That is very true. So, what’s eating you?” His eye studied her knowingly, one arm wiping away the foam from his lips.

“Everything. You heard about the impending army of royal suitors coming here?” He nodded. “That, mainly. Among other… things,” she muttered.

“The Commander.”

Grimacing, Aislinn covered her face with her hands, her face flushing red. “Am I that obvious?”

“Nah. But something’s been bugging him, too. Plus, Qunari have good noses. You smelled an awful lot like him that day we left for Val Royeaux.” He chuckled at her indignant glare, a shit eating grin spread across his face. “Hey, I don’t judge. So why don’t you just go talk to him?”

“I tried. He doesn’t want to talk to me,” draining the rest of her wine, she stared glumly into the fireplace, running her hands through her son’s curls, now asleep on her lap.

“Bullshit,” the Iron Bull brushed her off. “He wants to talk, he’s just scared. Bet if you went to see him, on his turf, he’d be more willing to talk. Go see him now. I’ll take the kid up for you.”

What did she have to lose? Shifting Lochlan to the Qunari’s arms, Aislinn smiled up at the man, squeezing his arm in thanks. The night was comfortable and cool, a warm northern breeze blowing through the keep and ruffling through the loose strands of hair that had escaped her bun. Greeting a few soldiers as she passed, the Inquisitor frowned up at her Commander’s tower. No lights were visible from the office itself, only a single, flickering candle wavering in his bedroom window. Had he gone to bed early? Did he even know how to go to bed early? Perhaps his withdrawals had worsened. That would partly account for his recent mood.

Pushing open the door, Aislinn took a deep breath and ventured inside, only to hear silence. And then-

A moan.

_God dammit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running an experiment where I'm trying to see how many cliffhangers I can end on before everyone riots.


	34. Cognizance Dawns

His moan echoed off the high rafters, somewhere above where she stood in his office. Another nightmare? Or was he with her? Should she just leave? If he was with her, did she want to see that again? Ugh, what if he was ill and she could help? All possible options and scenarios raced through her overactive mind, until she was dizzy from the effort.

_You know what, fuck this. If he’s with her again, I want to know. And I want to look him in the eye as he fucks her, so he can tell me to my face that that is what he wants._

Stomping over to his ladder, she gripped the first rung resolutely and began hauling herself up, each step pure agony on her patience. It was difficult to resist the urge just to clamber up as she usually would have with any other ladder, but she didn't want him to know she was there, until she was damn good and ready for him to know. The ladder ended. Her head peeked over the edge, her vision clouding with anxiety., eyes scanning the dimly lit room. He was in bed, alone, she realized with overwhelming relief as soon as she glanced over at his bed. _Withdrawals, then. There’s no other reason he would be in bed this-_

Thrashing about in bed, one taut arm reached over to throw off the thin sheet covering his body, and Aislinn froze. With nothing covering him, his skin glowed almost golden in the candlelight, muscle rippling as he flexed his arms, his hand moving over his erect length as he moaned again. _He’s- fuck._

She should probably leave him be. Creep as quietly as possible back down the ladder, run away back into the night. But she found she had lost the will to move, her body rooted in place as she stared at the delicious sight before her. Unbidden, she finished pulling herself up onto the landing and slowly approached him. The last time she had seen him in all his scarred, perfect glory, she had been far too drunk to properly appreciate it. Now, however, she was completely sober. And so very wet.

“Linn,” he growled, his eyes still screwed shut. Twisting his hand around the tip, Cullen gathered up his leaking precome and smoothed it down the shaft, creating the most obscene sounds as he pulled and tugged on himself, his hips jerking as he tried to create more friction. “Like that sweetling, yesss, just like that.”

Dear God and Maker. He was thinking about her, while he was doing _that_. The very thought was intoxicating, and mixed with the heady scent of his sweat and skin, she felt her knees growing weaker by the second. Taking another step, his eyes flew open as the floorboard creaked, gaping in shock at her as a rosy flush spread across his entire body.

“A-Aislinn?!”

“I’m sorry!” She gasped, her hands flying to her throat. “I didn’t mean- I’ll just go.” Whirling around, she raced back towards the ladder. _Shit shit shit shit-_

“Stop,” he barked. Almost falling as she skidded to a halt, Aislinn slowly turned back around. “Were you watching me, Inquisitor?”

“I…”

“Answer me,” he growled.

Her voice came out as a pitiful squeak. “Yes.”

“For how long?” Sitting up, he ran his other hand through his unruly curls, mussed from his exertions.

“A few minutes. Ser,” she added cheekily.

Amber eyes narrowed sharply at her, roaming up and down her figure. “I see. Come here.”

“I- what?”

“You heard me,” a wicked smirk twisted his lips up. “Come. Here.”

Obediently, she shuffled over to the bed, kneeling on the mattress where he indicated. “Cullen…”

“Hush,” he murmured, his voice slightly more gentle than before. “Let down your hair for me.” Tugging on the leather thong that kept her hair bound, Aislinn shook her obsidian waves loose, almost purring as he ran his fingers through the silky strands. “So lovely,” he sighed, then yanked her head back hard enough to make her gasp. “What were you thinking when you were watching me, hmm?” She couldn’t think, couldn’t form words, couldn’t _breathe_ when he looked at her like this, like she was a helpless rabbit trapped in the lion’s lair. His pupils were blown wide, black almost overtaking his eyes completely, save for a thin ring of gold on the edges. “Shall I guess? Were you thinking about that night before you left? Me, devouring your sweet cunt, drawing your pleasure out over and over again? Or maybe you were thinking of tasting me yourself? Your pretty lips, wrapped around my hard cock? Or perhaps you were imagining me inside you, fucking you hard and deep, your body milking me for all its worth?” His words were a siren’s call, leading her to her fate. Or perhaps, her doom. Mutely, she nodded. “Which one, Inquisitor?”

“A-all of it,” she whispered, licking his lips, her eyes flicking downwards to where his member still glistened, the tip a deep, throbbing purple, a single pearlescent drop of his fluid beading at the tip.

Humming in approval, his hand still tangled in her hair, Cullen pulled her closer to him. “Taste, then, if that’s what you want.”

Eagerly pouncing on his hips, Aislinn immediately drew his entire length as far as she could with no hesitation into her mouth, gagging as she reached her limit. One hand stayed on her head, merely resting at the base of her skull, his eyes wide and focused on her mouth. Fuck, how could he have forgotten this feeling? Her sweet face watching his so intently, her tongue swirling and sucking along his sensitive ridges and veins, everything so warm and wet.

His head hit the back of his bed, the impact resounding off the wood as he swore under his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, almost angrily. “Especially like this. Slower, sweetling, I want this to last.”

Groaning as she felt a rush of wetness at his decadent words, Aislinn eased her pace, lazily running her hands over his slick length in just the way he liked, giving her fingers a little twist and flick at the head. With her free hand, her fingers began slowly working at her own laces and buttons, unfastening each little by little, exposing her skin to his hungry gaze until she was clad in only her smalls. Cullen hissed as she pulled the last of the strings loose and stripped off the last bits of fabric covering her, her heavy breasts swinging loose, bobbing as she continued to push him towards the edge of his pleasure, his hands fisting in the sheets as she took of his tense, taut balls into her mouth, and _sucked_.

His entire body flew off of the bed at the intense sensation, every muscle within him straining for release. He wasn’t going to last, not with her, not like this. “Aislinn,” he pleaded, losing the last bit of control he held. “Let me come into your mouth.” Her answering moan sent the sweetest vibrations through his body, making his back arch, his hips thrusting up into her face. It wasn’t enough. 

Pushing himself up to his knees, he grabbed ahold of her head, his thumbs brushing her cheeks in a gentle caress, a striking dichotomy to the rough way he was fucking her mouth. Aislinn dug her fingers into his thighs hard enough to bruise, leaving little half moon imprints along the skin, almost hidden by the coarse, dark blonde hair that covered his body. “Linn,” he cried out, “I’m-”

With a guttural groan, she felt the first spurt of his hot, bitter seed hit the back of her throat, the muscles automatically constricting to swallow every last drop. Slowly, gradually, the aftershocks faded away, his hands dropping from her head as collapsed back onto the bed and winced apologetically at the sight of her swollen, red lips. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I got… carried away.”

“Mm,” she smiled to herself, giving his softening length one last swipe, delighting in his soft whimpers. “I didn’t mind.”

Watching her as she crawled up his body, her naked form sinuously moving across his pleasantly numb skin, Cullen reached out an arm to pull her close to him, and closed his eyes. “Aislinn. Is this what you want?”

“I…” Burying her face in his chest, she took several, shuddering breaths. “I honestly don’t know, Cullen. I want you, yes, but…”

“You want him, too.” His voice was flat and dull, the tension radiating off him in tangible waves.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I’m so confused.”

“Do you love him?” Her nod was almost imperceptible. “Do… you love me?” He waited with bated breath, every nerve ending in his body alight with trepidation for her answer.

“I do. I love you.”

Sagging in relief underneath her, he gripped her even tighter. “This won’t make things any easier, you know. For either of us.”

“I know.”

Several moments passed as neither spoke, both simply enjoying the feel of the other pressed against themselves. Lightly running his fingertips over her spine, Cullen sighed, and muttered under his breath. “Fuck it.” Grabbing her around her waist, he flipped her onto her back in one smooth movement, pinning her beneath him. “If this is all I get with you, before you go back to him, I’ll take it. Make it so that every time you’re with him, all you’ll ever be able to think about is _me_ ,” he snarled, shoving her thighs apart. “You’re absolutely dripping right now. Does sucking my cock get you that wet, Inquisitor?”

“Cullen,” she bucked in his arms as he let his finger drift along her folds, barely teasing with the ghost of his presence. Chuckling darkly to himself, he let his eyes drift up to her face, where she stared down at him raptly, her expression begging for more.

“Yes, sweetling?” He asked innocently, continuing to graze her sensitive skin everywhere except where she wanted him. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she replied without any hesitation. “Please, Cullen, I need you.”

What he wouldn’t give for that to be true. If only it was just him she needed. Carefully, he dipped his tongue into her arousal, holding her hands in place as she flailed desperately above him. “So good,” he moaned into her. Still avoiding her aching clit, Cullen set to work fucking her with his tongue, nipping and nibbling around the edges until she was a sobbing, writhing mess around him, his bulky arms barely able to keep her violently thrashing hips pinned to the bed.

“Beg me,” he demanded hoarsely.

“Your mouth,” she immediately moaned. “I need to come, please, please!”

“As you wish.” Hovering just over her dusky pink pearl, Cullen grinned up at her. “Don’t hold back, Linn. I want everyone in Skyhold to know exactly who is bringing you pleasure tonight. I want them to hear you scream.” And with that, his lips latched over her throbbing clit, and sucked. _Hard._

Aislinn shrieked, her entire body jerking upwards as she fought to not get swept away by the bright, sweet pain that was so very good, and failed completely. Everything faded away, the room, the worries that others would hear, the impending rush of suitors that would soon swoop down on the keep, her own misgivings- everything except his body, warm and firm and coarse against hers, and his mouth, hot and brutal and precise, torturing her with every little bite and lick. The desire that had been building since before she left burned as it tore its way through her very soul, the sound of her blood rushing through her head drowning out her own pounding heart and panted keens.

Maker, he loved when she came like this, loud and irreverent, her sweet cunt exploding in a riot of juices that dribbled down his chin, her muscled thighs clamping around his head as she fought to keep him there, or drag him away, which, he knew she wasn’t sure. Slowing himself to a few languid, unhurried swipes of his tongue as she stilled under him, Cullen hummed with contentment to himself as he took in her state- hair splayed out across his pillow, eyelids fluttering shut, her entire body slack and relaxed, only a few twitches of her legs betraying the fact that she just had orgasmed so desperately seconds before.

“Hi,” she murmured, her fingers tracing small circles against the inside of his wrist.

“Hello,” he smiled as he scooted up to lay beside her, bringing his arms around her. His heart felt nigh onto bursting as she snuggled into him, the action so familiar and so new at the same time. How was he ever supposed to let her go?

“Cullen,” wiggling against him, he stifled a groan as her hips pressed into his cock, once again erect. “Are you going to refuse to fuck me again?”

“The mouth on you,” he mumbled, gripping her tighter.

“You’re the one who told me to beg,” she reminded him with a coy smirk.

He could feel the heat radiating off of his ears, burning a bright red. “Yes, but that before, when we, you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Commander. When we what? When were in the war room? When we were playing chess? When we- ah!”

With a long suffering sigh, he rolled them over so that she was once again underneath him, her eyes and hands roaming appreciatively over his arms and back. “You are impossible,” he muttered into the crook of her neck.

“I know,” she replied simply. “Should I beg again?”

Grabbing ahold of the base of his cock, he dragged the tip over her swollen folds, his confidence and bravado returning as she clung to his biceps and gyrated her hips, trying to coax him inside of her. “Patience, Linn,” he whispered in her ear.

“Don’t you,” she moaned, “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

Grunting to himself, Cullen stilled, poised at her slick entrance. “I suppose you’re right.” And with that, he slid home in one long, smooth thrust. This was even better than he remembered. Aislinn swore, curses foul enough to make even a pirate blush, as he forced her body to stretch to accomodate his substantial girth. That’s right, she hadn’t taken a lover since before the Conclave, he remembered, over eighteen months ago now. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he hissed, calling upon all his templar training to keep himself still, to not spill in her quite yet, to let her get reacquainted with his thick cock, pulsing so deliciously inside of her.

“God, you feel so good,” she whimpered. She burned with the stretch, but it was such a sweet, pleasant sting. To feel this full of him, it was as if she were finally whole, complete, with him inside of her. Had anyone else ever compared to him? She couldn’t think straight enough to answer herself. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his clenched ass, and pressed him deeper inside. “Cullen,” she sighed.

“Yes, love?”

She loved this man. Everything about him, how he drove her crazy, how he had come so far, spending every second of his days trying to make up for the person he was, painstakingly rebuilding her trust in him even when he had thought this to be hopeless. He was loyal and kind and honorable and respectful and sweet and brave and strong and dear fucking _God_ , was he handsome. How could she possibly be thinking about anyone else? “Make me yours.”

“Linn…” His eyes were haunted as he stared her down.

“Cullen,” cupping his cheek in her hand, she smiled warmly up at him. “I love you. I want you, I need you. Only you.”

This was too good to be true. Glancing around, he waited for the Fade to reclaim him, to show him the demons lurking hidden in the shadows. Expectantly, Aislinn twitched around him, her mouth quirked up into a questioning glance. “Me?”

“Are there any other Cullen Rutherfords buried inside of me at the moment,” she teased.

“Are you,” licking his lips, he still couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge that this was real. “Are you sure? Or are you just saying this because…”

“I’m sure, lover,” her hands carded through his hair, tugging his face closer to hers until her lips brushed his nose. “I love you. With everything I am. I suspect I never stopped.”

“Maker’s breath.” His voice trembled along with his body, his weight suddenly too much for him to bear. Resting his forehead against hers, Cullen inhaled sharply, gazing down into her bright, silver rimmed eyes. “Aislinn, I-” Words utterly failed him in this moment. He would show her, instead. Show her with his body, worshipping hers with gentle, deep strokes, and slowly make her unravel around him, suffocate her in his love, sweep her away in his passion. Spend the rest of his life proving to her that she wasn’t making a mistake.

He was looking at her like she was Andraste herself, his own personal goddess and savior. Biting her lip, Aislinn felt her eyes roll back as he tilted her hips up a bit more, the tip of his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside of her. Even as she wailed and pleaded into his shoulder, biting hard enough to leave marks, Cullen kept his thrusts slow, leisurely, lazy. Making every second of this last as long as possible. It took her a few seconds to realize that he was shaking, and even longer to figure out that was… laughing?

“Sorry,” he chuckled, nuzzling her cheek, keeping his steady pace. “I don’t really know why I’m laughing. I’m just happy, I think.”

Her face lit up like the stars at his admission. “Happy is a good look on you.” Wrapping her fingers around his neck, Aislinn pulled his face back down to hers. “Kiss me, please.”

Tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, Cullen smirked down at her with an impish grin, gently teasing her as he brushed her lips with his, before pulling back to watch her pout in frustration. “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I swear to the Maker if you don’t-”

Whatever she had been planning to say was lost into the depths of his mouth, as he reared his hips back and thrust back inside, hard and deep, swallowing her screams. Setting a brutal pace that alternated between grinding against her clit and pounding her so that her breasts shook with the force of his attention, Cullen grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Do you remember what I told you, Aislinn,” he growled. “You are _mine_ , again. And I am never. Letting. You. Go.” Punctuating his declaration with harsh precision, his grin was positively feral as she frantically nodded her acquiescence. “Are you going to come for me, sweetling? That’s it, love. Let go.”

He was positive all of Skyhold heard her that time as she screamed his name as her world erupted in a blinding, white light, pleasure radiating through her entire body before pulsing outwards, and slamming back into her for another orgasm that followed quickly on the heels of the first, feeding off the aftershocks that rippled through her.

“Andraste’s grace,” he gasped, his own rhythm stuttering erratically. “Where-”

“Inside,” she whimpered, utterly drained. “Claim me, Cullen.” Why her depraved words had such a primitive effect on him, he would never know. Instantly, the edges of his vision faded to black, his world narrowing to a pinpoint that was only her and his cock, emptying itself into her womb as he roared his completion, filling her to overflowing with his seed. 

Spent and sated, he collapsed on top of her, just barely keeping the brunt of his weight from crushing her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. “Am I alive?”

Her giggle was so sweet, he thought idly. “I certainly hope so. Because I don’t know how I would explain to our son that I killed his father by sex.”

“Lochlan,” he mumbled into her sweaty skin. “He told me you loved me, you know. Months ago, before we went to Halamshiral.”

“Did he now? He’s always been rather intuitive,” she mused. “Wonder where he got that from. Neither you nor I, I would think. Maybe a grandparent? Distant aunt?”

“Aislinn.” Raising his head to gaze into her beautiful face, Cullen hesitated. “Did you- did you mean what you said? That you only wanted me?”

“I did,” slowly pressing kisses over every inch of his face, Aislinn did her best to reassure the man that she loved of her desires. “Only you. Now and forever.”

“Maker’s breath,” he mumbled yet again. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“I could set you on fire, if you’d like.”

“Aislinn…”

“What, I’m trying to help.” He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth. Running his fingers along her ribs, he grinned as she squealed and tried to squirm away from him, to no avail. “Cullen,” she gasped between shrieks and breathless giggles, “I yield, I yield! Mercy!”

“Never,” he promised. Rolling over so that she was laying on his chest, he softly stroked her hair, feeling his eyelids grow heavy, smiling as he felt her fingertips trace his face.

“How’s your head?”

“It’s been… rough, these past few days,” he admitted. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” And his nightmares had changed, but he didn’t want to tell her that. Not right now, at least.

“Maybe you’ll sleep better with me here. You always used to,” her body snuggled in closer to his, if that was even possible.

“You’ll stay with me?” His voice was thickly laced with sleepy surprise.

“If you want me to,” she yawned. “Or I can go.”

“ _No_ ,” he clutched her tightly to his chest, as if he were terrified she'd disappear on him, to the point where he wondered if he was suffocating her. “Stay. Please.”

Aislinn chuckled breathlessly. “As you wish, Commander. I love you, Cullen.”

“And I love you, more than anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes up for the last two chapters ;)
> 
> My previous estimate of 40 chapters is kaput. I no longer have any idea when this will end, if ever.


	35. The First Arrives

A sleepy little snuffle stirred him from his slumber, the first dreamless sleep he had had in years. Feeling more rested than he could remember, Cullen yawned as he stretched in place, smiling down at the dark head pillowed against his shoulder. This felt so right, so natural, to have her next to him. And the best part was, he could fall asleep with her again tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night for the rest of their lives. No more leaving her for weeks, or months on end. No more sneaking around, keeping their relationship a secret. A family. A home. They could finally have it all.

He was loathe to move, but the sun was already beginning to rise, meaning he would be late for morning drills. It was tempting to remain here with her, nestled in her warm embrace and let his lieutenants take care of things, but he really should be out there himself, duty calling him as always. Leaning over her sleeping form, Cullen pressed a soft kiss to her cheeks, smiling as she stirred slightly and reached for him instinctively. “Sleep, love.”

“Mmkay,” she sighed. “Have a good day.” Moving about his room as quietly as he could muster, his gaze kept drifting back to her as he washed and dressed, her body snuggled in a pile of blankets, one shapely leg hanging off the edge of the bed. He could definitely get used to this again. With one last lingering glance towards his love, he carefully climbed down the ladder, trying to keep his leather training armor from creaking, and pulled on the gloves he had left on his desk the previous night. 

The sun seemed brighter today, the sky clear enough that he could see for miles beyond Skyhold. Breathing in the sweet, summer air, Cullen grinned to himself and made his way out onto the training field. Setting aside his armor by the fence, the Commander stretched and rolled out his muscles as he waited for the rest of his men to show up, most of them still sleep addled and groggy.

“Commander?” Matthias approached him warily, wondering if he would snap at him today like he had the past several days.

“Lieutenant,” Cullen clapped the man on his shoulder. “Ready for the morning run?”

“Uh, yes, ser,” he blinked, curious as to what had caused the dramatic shift in his superior’s mood. “Good morning for a run.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it,” the Commander smiled. “Soldiers! Fall into line. Let’s move!”

***

Burying her face in his pillow, Aislinn breathed in deep of Cullen’s heady sandalwood scent, tinged with the musk of his sweat and sex. She had missed this, amazed at how a smell could evoke so many memories of happier times. Resisting the urge to wrap herself up in his blankets and roll around on the bed, she unwillingly forced herself upright and dressed, sparing a moment to grimace up at the hole in his roof and the bright sunlight streaming through it.

Making sure she was as presentable as possible, Aislinn tried not to appear too conspicuous as she exited the Commander’s tower, their rekindled relationship still too new, too fragile for her to be at ease quite yet. She breathed a sigh of relief as no one paid any particular attention to her, and gradually her steps grew more confident as she sauntered into the main keep, and up to her room.

A sleepy head greeted her, peeking over the railing as she walked inside. “Mama? Is that you?”

“Hey, Loch,” she smiled up at him. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Uh huh. Did you just come back in?”

“I, um,” she blushed under the curious stare of her son. “I was… busy. With… stuff. Come on, let’s get you dressed or you’ll be late for your lessons.”

“You look happy,” clambering down the ladder, Lochlan cocked his head at her, like a little bird.

“I am happy,” she pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ve got everything I need, right here with me.”

“You smell like Papa,” he mumbled from where he was pressed to her neck.

“What?”

“Inquisitor,” Josephine’s muffled voice called through her door. “Are you in there?”

“Come in!”

“Ah, pardon the intrusion,” the ambassador smiled apologetically at the mother and son, “But Lord Rafael Cardona’s caravan has been spotted by our scouts. He will arrive in two hours or so, and Prince Sebastian Vael is not far behind him.”

“I thought we had more time,” Aislinn groaned.

“They made better time that we thought across the Waking Sea,” glancing down at her notes, Josephine pursed her lips, scanning the rest of the parching before her. “Grand Duke Gaspard is traveling along with Duke de Ghislain and should be here in two days, and King Alistair, the day after that.”

“Are these important people?”

Turning to her son, the Inquisitor nodded. “Yes, sweetie. And I’m going to need you to-” _To be on your best behavior_ , she had been about to say. _Fuck it. If he wants to be a rampaging dragon the whole time they’re here, he can be. Alistair will get a kick out of it, at the very least._ “To be yourself. Always be yourself,” she finished firmly. “Or a dragon. Whatever you like.”

With a loud roar, Lochlan disappeared into the bathing chamber. “Kids,” she smiled innocently at her apprehensive ambassador, who was now tapping her fingernail nervously on her board. “What can you do, hm? Well, I suppose I should make myself presentable for the princes.”

“I shall leave you to it, Inquisitor. Might I suggest a dress?”

“You can,” Aislinn replied serenely. “But I still won’t. I’m not giving these men any false hope. I can be regal and imposing in pants, Josie.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” the Antivan grumbled as she made to leave. “At least wear something pretty, please.”

“I thought I was always pretty!”

“Is that what the Commander tells you?”

“Josephine, are you teasing me?”

“I would never dream of it, Inquisitor," the Antivan smiled sweetly and far too innocently. "Two hours, if you please.”

“Fine, fine.”

***

Precisely two hours later, Josephine was relieved to find Aislinn waiting in the main hall, dressed in a pair of supple black leather fitted leggings and a deep eggplant silk tunic with gold embroidery along the hemlines, her black tresses piled elegantly on her head, the visual epitome of casual nobility. “Ambassador. Do you approve?”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she sighed.

“I do not,” Cullen grumbled from where he stood behind her. Her pants hugged her curves far too closely for his comfort.

“Well, you can remove them later,” Aislinn murmured as she leaned in under the guise of adjusting his mantle.

“Maker’s breath,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t tease.”

“I wasn’t. I was promising, Commander,” she winked. “And there’s my boy.”

“Why do I have to be here,” her son grumbled, tugging at his brand new tunic, still stiff and tight. “My shirt is scratchy.”

“Here,” kneeling in front of Lochlan, Cullen flipped the edges of the collar down, away from his sensitive skin. “Does that help?”

“Yup. Thanks P-Commander.” Wishing he could tell his son it was alright to call him Papa, Cullen straightened and ruffled his dark curls affectionately. He understood that it would horrible timing to come forward with their relationship now, with all the royals en route, but still, it seemed kinder to tell them immediately rather than dangling herself on a string, offering them false hope. Not that any of them would care overly much if she turned him down, except for maybe their pride. Alistair would be the only one that would truly be saddened, devastated, even. That was the one meeting he was not looking forward to.

She loved him she said; still, he saw the hesitation in her eyes last night when he had asked. And yes, she said she chose him, but would that still hold when Alistair came back and she faced him? And his son. The king still regularly corresponded with Lochlan, who in turn, loved him deeply. And Alistair was a Maker forsaken king. He had the power to grant Aislinn anything she desired. What could he offer her, really? A small cabin in the country, when she could have a palace? A lyrium addled mind, when she could have someone untainted by the blue? A broken templar, when she could have a whole man?

“Are you okay, Commander?” Lochlan’s hand tugged at his own.

“Just a lot on my mind, pup,” he smiled wanly down at his son. “It’ll be okay.” _I hope. You know she doesn’t care about wealth. Or power. She would be happier in the woods rather than surrounded by nobility for the rest of her life. And she knows what she’s getting into, with me. If she was still unsure, she would have waited, wouldn’t she? Unless…_ It wasn’t just about the sex, he forced that thought out of his mind. _You saw her face. You_ know _her. She wasn’t lying when she said she loved you._

But would loving him be enough to keep her with him?

“Raise the gates! Caravan approaching!”

A stately black gilded carriage, polished until it gleamed like obsidian glass, rolled into the courtyard, surrounded by guards in immaculate armor, their faces hidden beneath their helms.

“Inquisitor, may I present Lord Rafael Guillermo Luís Cardona, of Rialto, Antiva,” Josephine swept into a curtsy as a handsome, dark skinned man gracefully exited the carriage.

“Lord Cardona, the Inquisition welcomes you. Inquisitor Aislinn Kojima, at your service,” bowing, Aislinn tried not to flinch as the Antivan bounded up the stairs and took her hands into his own in order to press enthusiastic kisses that were entirely too wet to her skin.

“Inquisitor,” his self assured grin practically oozed charm, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to getting to know you.” Making no attempt to hide his obvious appraisal of her form, Cardona raised his dark eyes to her, “The stories said you were beautiful, but I thought them merely an embellishment. I see now I was wrong. The Maker smiled when he created you.”

“Oh for the love of-” Aislinn had to press her lips together to keep from laughing at Cullen’s pained groan. Instead, she smiled coyly at the merchant prince.

“You are too kind, my lord. Was your journey well?”

“Passable,” he shrugged. “Ah, may I introduce my sister, the Lady Catalina?” Reaching behind him, he tugged a young woman with a very bored expression on her face up to his side. “I thought she would like to see the might of the Inquisition with her own eyes. Plus, she gets so bored when I leave her alone in Antiva.” His sister rolled her eyes at his remarks.

“Pleased to meet you, my lady.” The woman inclined her head gracefully, her dark brown curls bobbing around her heart shaped face. “And this is my son, Lochlan.” He bowed, solemn and proper at her side.

“Ah, a son. Sons are excellent blessings.” The sharp glint in his eyes made Aislinn’s hackles rise, enough for her to pull her son back protectively. 

“I’m sure you’re both exhausted from being on the road for so long. The staff will show you up to your chambers. I do hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“I’m sure we will. Come, Catalina.” With a huff, the younger woman trailed off behind her brother, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else in Thedas besides here.

“Well that was,” Aislinn rubbed her hands against her thigh. “Wet. Leliana. Say I lost my mind and married Cardona. What are the odds he’d send a Crow after Lochlan?”

“High,” the spymaster replied immediately. “At the very least, he would send him far away.”

“I want extra eyes on him while he’s here. He gets nowhere near my son.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Nodding to Leliana and Josephine, Aislinn trailed after the tall blonde towards the stairs that led up to the battlements.

“He was practically undressing you with his eyes,” Cullen complained when they got far enough away. “How long is he staying again?”

“Until they choose to leave,” she sighed. “Well one down, four more to go. Sebastian Vael arrives tonight.”

“Of all the nobility in Thedas, it had to be him.” Her Commander’s jaw twitched as he scowled towards the distant mountain passes. 

“Wasn’t he the one we helped repel from Kirkwall?”

“Indeed,” he chuckled grimly. “The pompous ass. You opted to send my men to help Guard-Captain Aveline, instead of Vael. He was not too pleased. Although he is, for all intents and purposes, a good man, strong in his faith and devoted to the Maker. But he’s…”

“He’s what?”

Rubbing his neck, Cullen stared at a distant point near the opposite wall. “He’s very handsome. And he has that stupid Starkhaven brogue.”

“Ooh, like Rylen?”

“ _Linn_.”

“Sorry,” Aislinn giggled, “I couldn’t resist, love.” A bit of the tension drained out of him at her choice of words. “I will admit, the accents are rather attractive. But there is no one else more handsome than you, my Commander. Of that, I am certain. Prince or no.”

 _But what about a king?_ “I am glad you think so.”

Placing her hand on his cheek, Aislinn gently stroked his stubble, a soft smile curling at her lips. “I should go find Varric, pester him for more information on how to make Vael’s stay here as uncomfortable as possible. Actually, all of them. I bet he has great tips.”

“You could always just let Sera loose on them,” Cullen smirked. “I heard she has a new beehive just on the other side of the valley.”

“Ooh, Lochlan and Sera. I bet they could do some damage,” she mused, glancing back up at him. “See you at supper?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” bringing her other hand, the one Cardona had neglected, to his mouth, he pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “See you tonight.”

Aislinn jogged up the stairs, finding the dwarf at his usual spot by the hearth as soon as she walked in. “Hey, Var,” she dropped herself into the chair across from him. “Your friend will be here soon.”

“Yes, the lacquered pilot whale,” Varric chuckled. “Friend is a very, very loose term.”

“Lacquered pilot whale?” she giggled. “Where did that come from?”

“His armor. Very shiny. Although he probably has a new set, now that’s he prince.” Glancing up at her expectant stare, he set his quill down and leaned back in his chair. “So what can I do you for, Your Inquisitorialness?”

“You know a decent bit about Vael, and Antivan culture, right?”

“I do, although Ruffles probably knows more about Antiva, you know, seeing as how she’s from there,” he raised his eyebrow.

“Obviously, but I can’t go ask her what sort of things Cardona hates. She’ll get suspicious,” she pouted. 

Throwing his head back, Varric slapped his knee as he cackled, catching onto her plan. “Well, first off, Antivan nobles think women are pure, delicate flowers. Shouldn’t do things like fight, or make decisions about anything not related to household matters.”

“So demon slaying is definitely out of my future then,” she grinned. “Good to know. Vael?”

“As devout as they come.”

“So no blaspheming around him, hmm.”

“And the Orlesians-”

“Oh, I’m not concerned about Gaspard. Offending Orlesians is like child’s play. All I have to do is mention how much I love mabari, and eat with the wrong fork at supper time and I’m pretty sure they’ll faint on the spot,” she snorted. “Maybe I’ll borrow one of Sera’s outfits.”

“Nah, you would actually make mustard plaidweave look good,” he laughed. “What about Alistair?”

She fell still at the mention of the king’s name, a somber shadow crossing her face. “I have no intention of offending him, but I fear I will hurt him no matter what,” she mumbled. “Why do things have to be so hard?”

“Life,” Varric sighed. “Never easy. Especially when you’re you.”

“Thanks,” she huffed sarcastically, tracing a whorl in the wood grain with one finger on the smooth table.

“No,” he shook his head. “I meant with your position. Makes everything even more difficult. Bet you can’t wish for it all to be over, huh?”

Over. The solution to what she and Lochlan would do had yet to be solved, once her duties to the Inquisition were over. But now that Cullen was back in her life… Could they be a family? Somewhere far out in the country. Perhaps near his family? She wondered if his siblings had kids. Lochlan could grow up with his cousins, have the family that she never did. What would Cullen and her do for a living? Farm? Herd sheep? Did it matter, as long as they finally had each other and a simple life? A dreamy smile spread across her face.

“Okay, now I gotta know what you’re thinking.”

Grinning, Aislinn pushed herself to her feet and patted her friend on the head. “Not a chance, dwarf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric actually calls Vael a lacquered pilot whale in game banter. So funny.


	36. Training

It turned out that Sebastian Vael was everything that she was told he would be- handsome, devout, blessed with a voice that would have made her weak in the knees, had it not been for one thing. He was, without a doubt, the most arrogant, self-righteous man she had ever met, and that was saying a lot, considering her time spent in Orlais and the court in Denerim. Still, at least he wasn’t a lecherous fool, like Cardona.

Having pulled on a simple blouse and a pair of worn leggings, Aislinn headed down to the training ring, desperate to set something on fire after Gaspard and de Ghislain’s arrival the day before. Of all her companions, it was only Vivienne that seemed to be thrilled that the Orlesian men were here in Skyhold. For Aislinn, it was like hell. The constant simpering, bowing, the slimy kisses to her hand, the sheer entitlement that rolled off of all the men, all so confident that she would chose them. After all, what women wouldn’t leap at the chance to be wed to the second most powerful Antivan merchant prince? Or rule Starkhaven? Or marry the Empress’ cousin? Laurent de Ghislain was the only one she barely tolerated. He was much more subdued than the rest, not as much as a strutting peacock, but still. She was sure she could take each man down with nary more than a flick of her wrists.

Her staff thudded into the dirt as a crowd began to gather around the training ring, her suitors among them. _Come to gawk at the mage,_ she thought sourly.

“Putting on a show for them, boss?” The Iron Bull’s voice rumbled from her left.

“Sure, why not,” she groused. 

“Might as well make it worth their while. Make them quake in their shiny boots,” he winked. “Krem, Dalish, Grim, get in here. Inquisitor, in the center, if you please.”

“Ooh, I want in. We all taking Quizzy down?” Hopping down from her window, Sera grinned as she landed neatly next to Aislinn.

“Is this wise? Or necessary?” Cassandra called from the sidelines, a stern frown plastered on her face.

“Um. No? And yes. Definitely yes,” the Qunari shrugged. “You got some of that fancy shit left from the Coast?”

Her magic. The sudden influx of power that she had unleashed upon the Venatori’s ship. It was still there, bubbling beneath the surface, just waiting for her to summon it to her. “I do,” she murmured. “But you saw me that day. I was lost, unaware. If I hurt any of you…”

“That’s why you have to practice. I mean, it’s a part of you right? As in, it’s not going anywhere? So shouldn’t you learn to control it?”

Was it a part of her? Or was it just Aella, guiding her, lending her long dead power? “I… suppose. Cassandra,” she turned to the Seeker. “Keep an eye on me? I’m going to try something new, and you might have to Silence me. Bull will let you know. Dorian, barriers please.” Blinking until her eyes adjusted to the blue of the Tevinter’s magic, Aislinn squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

Right from the start, she realized it would be best to sheathe herself in lightning and wear it like armor. The attacks were staggered at first, a sword jab here, an arrow there, a tentative axe swing to her left. But it wasn’t before long that the pace picked up, and two or three would launch themselves at her at once. Throwing out a wall of force, Aislinn slammed it into Grim and Dalish, pinning them beneath the gravity of her mana, barely dodging Bull’s charge. She winced as she stumbled, and hit the ground in a cloud of dust that obscured her vision.

“You’re not using it,” the Qunari growled at her. “Do it.”

“I-”

“ _Do. It_.” Suddenly, they all rushed her at once by some unspoken sign. The training circle disappeared in a blur of blades and arrows and magic, rushing by her in a maelstrom of danger. It was all she could do to weather the storm, desperately blocking at the last second, her control slipping just a little bit more with each slice and jab. If this kept up…

“Bull!” She heard a familiar baritone snap. “Cease this at once!”

The Qunari ignored the voice, his eye burning a hole into Aislinn as he pressed the advantage. Slash after slash rained down upon her, her feet sliding back in the sand with the weight of his attacks, her staff bearing the brunt of his swings until she was sure it would crack. Gritting her teeth, she spat, “Fine.”

And the world erupted into electricity. It was strange, how detached she felt when she was channeling this power, as if she were watching from outside of her body, controlling her magic like a puppet on a string. Arrows froze in midair before incinerating on the spot. Screams echoed like they were underwater as her lightning arced through the swords and daggers, and into shocked and paralyzed limbs. Nothing stood a chance before her power.

“Yes!” The Iron Bull crowed, a feral glint overtaking his features. “Now this is what I’m talking about!”

The others now disposed, Aislinn forced control of her mana back in, leaving just enough to wield her electricity like whips, gripped in both hands. Grunting as one strand wrapped around his arm, the Qunari merely grunted as he ignored the sizzle of his flesh and raced toward her. With a lazy smile, she raised her hand-

And laughed as he ran full speed into a wall of condensed gravity. “Not fair,” he sighed, rubbing his probably broken nose.

“You’re the one who wanted me to use it,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but not like that. No fun like that,” pouting, he lowered his axe as her spell faded away. 

Rolling her eyes, she took his arm in her hand and ran a healing spell over the burnt skin. “It’s a good thing you’re Qunari,” she shook her head. “Or that would have burned right through your arm.”

“Eh, you knew what you were doing. And I could take it. Everyone else okay?”

“My arm’s still twitching,” Krem shook his head. “Hell of a jolt there, Your Worship.”

“Sorry,” Aislinn blushed sheepishly. “Does anyone need to be healed?”

“You owe me like, thirty arrows,” Sera screeched from the sidelines. “Why’d you have to go and fry ‘em all?”

“I’ll try to be more careful next time I’m facing down five seasoned fighters who are trying to kill me,” she retorted dryly.

“No one’s injured,” Dalish limped over to the fence, wincing as she threw her not-a-staff down into the dirt. “A little singed and sore, but nothing new.”

“Thank goodness,” Aislinn sighed in relief. So she had managed to control her power after all. How much more could she do? Where did the limits of her range extend to now? One thing was for certain, she definitely needed a bigger training arena than this.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Laurent nod appreciatively as Cordona ground his heel into the dirt and whipped away sharply, a disdainful sneer curling his lip. Motioning for his sister to accompany him, the younger woman batted his hand away and remained where she was, standing rigidly in place near the tavern wall. _Well that’s what you get for thinking I’d ever be a docile, delicate little trembling little wife_ , she smirked triumphantly. It was curious, however, to note that apparently his sister doesn’t share the same views as the lord.

“Inquisitor,” Sebastian Vael nimbly hopped over the fence, dressed in an immaculate jacket that was as white as fresh snow and edged in golden thread. The entire ensemble was eerily reminiscent of his “lacquered pilot whale” armor, Varric had chuckled earlier upon seeing the prince. “That was a brilliant show.”

God, was it hard not to giggle like a teenage girl at that accent. She had always barely been able to keep her composure around Rylen, who had never actively tried to flirt with her, and now she was being courted by this? “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Sebastian, please,” he waved away his title. “You are a very powerful mage indeed. Varric told me you were in Kirkwall for a spell? Shame we never crossed paths back then.”

“I believe I was in the Gallows during your stay with Hawke,” she smiled with as much warmth as she could muster up at the prince. “I was a very different person back then.”

“Weren’t we all,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps fate has led us back together, my lady, at such an opportune time. I would relish the chance to speak to you alone, later this evening, perhaps? I know your other suitors are also clambering for your attention, but perhaps you would spare a few moments for a Marcher lad?”

“I…” Several feet behind Vael’s back, Aislinn spied her ambassador, shooting daggers at her with her eyes, daring her to say no to his request. “That would be… lovely, Y- Sebastian. A walk in the gardens after supper?”

“I shall count down the very minutes,” lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a tender kiss atop her hand, the tiniest smirk teasing at the corner of his eyes. _Oh, he’s a charmer_. “Until then, Inquisitor.”

“Aislinn, please.”

“Aislinn.”

 _Ugh, but I don't wanna. If I spend time with him, I'll have to spend time with the rest, and I'm positive Cordona will try something and I'll have to set him on fire and then Josie will scold me and this sucks so much_. Shaking her head to clear it, she picked up her staff once more, frowning as she felt the spiderweb fractures that now laced the wood. It would need a trip to Harrit, she mused.

“What the hell was that?” Cullen stomped up to her without preamble, spluttering and seething. “You should know better than to take unnecessary risks like that!”

“Will you please stop scolding me in front of everyone,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Or are you trying to make me look incompetent in front of our guests?”

“They are not our guests,” he muttered. “They’re your _suitors_.”

“I don’t like them being here any more than you do, Cullen.”

“Oh, I think you’re rather pleased by all the attention. I saw you blushing just now, when Vael kissed your hand,” his brooding glare cut her through to the bone, and suddenly, all she saw was red. “Don’t even tell me you didn’t enjoy his accent.”

“You forget yourself, Commander.” Drawing herself up, Aislinn’s eyes gleamed an icy silver, her mana sparking at her fingertips. “You are creating a scene.” Abruptly, she whirled to leave the training ring, only to be yanked back by a firm hand around her slender wrist.

"I wasn't done speaking to you."

"But I was. Dismissed, _Commander_ ," she sneered.

It was with immense, smug satisfaction that she watched as his fists clenched and released, the grinding of his teeth audible even over the din of the courtyard. With a clipped, “Inquisitor,” Cullen spun on his heel and marched out of sight, nobility and laborers alike scurrying to throw themselves out of the path of the rampaging man.

“Well that was… interesting,” Dorian tentatively approached her shoulder.

“What is it, altus? I’m in no mood.”

“Altus, is it?” He raised a manicured eyebrow. “Well, then, I’ll make it brief. My contacts have come through, and I’ve found a few records on Corypheus’ family, Aella included. And Marcella. Here,” handing her a scroll, he sketched her an elaborate bow. “Inquisitor.”

She felt as if she should feel shame, or at the very least, discomfort for the way she just treated Cullen and Dorian. It was not her nature to be cruel or condescending, and yet… The way Cullen had spoken to her, yelling at her in front of the gathered crowd, in front of the nobility- she needed to appear strong and in command. How much damage had it done to have her Commander chide her as if she were a child? And that he would accuse her of enjoying Sebastian’s attention- _the gall of that man. I understand this is new and he’s feeling insecure, but I have never even dreamed of cheating on him. If I wasn’t sure about him, I would not have given myself to him. Idiot. He should know that by now. I thought he knew me better than that. Was I wrong?_

The scroll tucked securely into her palm, Aislinn strode regally back into the keep, the crowd giving her an even wider berth than they gave the Commander, as there were tiny arcs of lightning still swirling around her. She wanted a private place to sit and regain her center, somewhere quiet where she could read in peace. Where could she… Ah, that little library in the basement. No one ever went there.

Slipping into the dusty room, Aislinn wearily dropped herself into the oversized chair in the center, feeling an impending headache throbbing at the base of her skull. _I must be more stressed than I thought, to have spoken to them like that._ Guilt washed over her like a tidal wave as the silence of the room finally hit her. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ Too much going on? Was that a reasonable excuse for how she had just treated Cullen? Of course he was insecure. All these nobles, trying to win her hand, and he had no titles or wealth. Not that she cared in the slightest, but it obviously still distressed him. And Alistair would be here soon, today or tomorrow, and… God, this was all a mess. She needed to find the man and apologize.

Unfurling the scroll, she read first the little note pinned to top, written in Leliana’s neat and elegant script: _A quiet message arrived from House Amladaris today. Considering the speed of the response, it seems hard to believe the family had no knowledge of what Dorian found in the book. I wonder how long they've sat upon the secret, wondering if it might someday come to light?_

House Amladaris. She knew his name in an instant without even glancing back down. Sethius. His name was Sethius. Memories that were not hers swam through her vision, of a dark haired girl, leading a small toddler through an ornate mansion, his chubby fingers clutched in her robes. Sitting outside together as adolescents, sparring with their magic under the vigilant eye of private tutors. Being announced into society as her father’s heir, the resentment obvious on his still young face. Her pride the day he was inducted into the service of Dumat. The distance that increased the older they grew, their respective duties keeping the once close siblings apart. What was this? How could she be experiencing a life that had long since passed when she was not in the Fade? The anchor, perhaps? Examining the mark, she found it to be oddly silent and still.

 _Nothing is making sense_. Picking the scroll back up, she ignored the platitudes and promises of the head of House Amladaris, skipping down to where she found Marcella’s name. 

_"The records of the First Blight have mostly been lost to the ravages of war and time, but we did find a mention of a Marcella Ursinus, who singlehandedly held back the first archdemon until more reinforcements could be called. It is presumed she died in the onslaught."_ Maybe she could see if Solas could find more definite answers in the Fade. But that did sound like Cassandra, to fight a damned dragon by herself in order to save as many lives as she could. Always a damn, badass hero, no matter what life she lived.

“I thought I might find you down here.” A cultured voice echoed from outside the cracked door, just the edges of his robes visible.

“Dorian,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry for how I acted earlier. I don’t know what came over me.”

Pushing the door open all the way, the mage leaned against the frame and shrugged carelessly. “No harm done. Besides, I saw your little… spat with the Commander. You were on edge, it’s fine.”

“Still,” grimacing, she held out the scroll. “Sethius. That was his name. I’m positive your research was true. I sort of remembered things? From Aella’s childhood, growing up with Sethius. He was always trying to surpass me, I mean, her, and his quest for power led him to pledging his life to Dumat, and eventually, the Magisters Sidereal. They were both magisters, but her voice was much more respected than his. She was their parents’ favorite. He never got over it.”

“A sibling’s quarrel started the Blights. Who knew,” Dorian chuckled. “Imagine telling the Chantry that. ‘No, your Maker had nothing to do with it. It was a little brother, who was angry at his sister.’”

“I doubt they would appreciate it. Not my problem.”

“So what now?”

Exhaling softly, Aislinn brushed off her pants and stood. “See if I can find more information on Marcella in the Fade. And apologize to Cullen. Find my son, I don’t think I’ve seen him all day.”

“Last I saw, he and Sera were painting a few of your suitors’ horses,” he grinned.

“Oh for the love of- And you didn’t stop them?!”

“Gaspard will look so much better on a blueberry stained stallion, don’t you think?”

“Josephine is going to kill me,” she groaned. “Fine. New plan. Find my son, hide him from everyone for eternity. Ground him and Sera. Then the rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this while wearing a wreath made of tin foil, and a bowl on my head, while my toddler is pretending to water me like a plant. Life is weird.


	37. Vox Irae

She caught the culprits red handed. And blue handed. Both of them, covered in the juices of crushed raspberries and blueberries, both guiltily standing with their heads lowered, slumped in place as she berated them.

“Sera, I can’t believe you! These aren’t just some nobles, that’s the Grand Duke of Orlais’ war stallion who now has a _giant purple penis_ emblazoned on its side! And bringing Lochlan into it, which, by the way young man, you should have known better. What could have possibly convinced you that this was a good idea?!”

“I dunno,” a new voice drawled from behind her. “I think it’s a marked improvement.”

“Alistair!” A small stained figured raced past her, and threw himself at the dusty and travel worn man behind her.

“Lochlan,” she snapped. “I am not finished with you.”

Slowly, the lad slipped out of the king’s grasp and slunk across the stable floors. “Yes, Mama.”

“Sera, you too,” she grabbed the elf who was trying to sneak out the back. “Soap. Water. Clean it up. _Now_.”

“I get confused if you’re the Inquisitor more or Mom more,” Alistair grinned. Approaching him with her head cradled in one hand, Aislinn rolled her eyes.

“Apparently, I’m both. At the same bloody time. Wait,” jerking her face up, she frowned at him. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked in confusion at her. “Um, I told you I was coming, right? You got that letter?”

“I did, but,” gesturing behind him, she said, “Where’s your entourage? Everyone else came with gilded everything and shiny guards and did you just sneak in the side gate?”

“Ah, yes,” he blushed, “Yes, I did. Should I have brought my shinies?”

“No,” snorting, she couldn’t help but smile at him. “Did you hear about the others here? Gaspard, Vael, Cordona, and de Ghislain?”

“I did,” he scowled in the direction of the main hall. “Do you… like any of them?”

“Sebastian and Laurent are the nicest out of them,” she shrugged as she walked past him, oblivious to the stricken look on his face. “But still, nobles.”

“Ha. Ha, yeah, those pesky nobles. Right,” he cleared his throat. “So, um…”

“Oh my goodness!” Spinning around, she clasped her hands over her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry, my manners are shit today. It’s been such a long day and ugh,” sheepishly, she took his hand. “It’s good to see you, Ali.”

“I was beginning to think you didn’t want to see me,” he teased, the skin around his eyes crinkling in that way that she loved- _that I used to love_ , she corrected herself.

“No,” her braid swung to and fro as she shook her head. “Having you here is a bright spot among these other, shall we say, interlopers. And Lochlan has missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed him. And you, Linn,” taking a step closer, he gently tugged her to his chest, hesitating only when he felt her freeze. _Ah. Too fast. I guess it was too much to hope we could just pick up where we left off_. Bringing her hand to his lips instead, he bestowed what he hoped was a devastating smile. “Will I see you tonight at supper?”

“Supper,” she squeaked. “Right. The meal. With everyone. Everyone at the meal. Yes. Yes I be there. I’ll be there. Maker’s breath.”

Alistair’s laugh boomed heartily through the rest of the yard, startling a few of the other people nearby. “Alright then. Save me a seat,” winking at her, he turned and headed back into the keep.

Closing her eyes, Aislinn sagged against the wooden frame. _I need to tell him. I have to tell him. How the hell am I going to tell him?_ Everything she had felt for the man was still there. God, he could make her smile despite everything, laugh no matter what sort of mood she was in. But Cullen… 

Cullen was the fire to her lightning, Alistair was the gentle rain after the storm. Cullen was that dizzy sensation and the pit in her stomach she got standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into an endless abyss, Alistair was a warm, golden, sun dappled meadow. Cullen was a raging river, white-capped rapids thrashing against rocks that threatened to drown her, consume her; Alistair was a lazy bubbling brook, idly drifting by as frogs croaked and crickets sang, soothing, a balm to her battered soul. But no, it didn’t matter anymore. She had made her choice. She loved Cullen, everything about that stubborn templar that made him, him. But…

But.

What if?

How did she know she was making the best choice, for her and Lochlan?

_Of course Cullen is the best choice for Lochlan, he’s his fucking father._

Was he the best choice for her? Did eight months of being there for her son negate all those years in Kirkwall, rebuild their trust? Did eighteen months of him trying to prove to her he had changed mean that he had?

Did she even need anyone in her life?

 _You are the most powerful woman in Thedas_ , a voice that was her own, and yet not, whispered to her. _You need no one. Least of all, any man as weak as these pathetic suitors. A true ruler should command you to come to them, and instead, these pitiful fools crawl to your feet, begging for your attention. As they should. You ought find someone your equal. Someone who would stand behind you, strong, and powerful. Someone who was born to rule._

This made no sense. When had she ever wanted that? Ever thought Cullen weak, or Alistair? If anything, they were the strongest people she knew. Both gave up everything they had, their hopes and dreams, to serve, fulfill their duty, whether it was to the Maker or the people. For fuck’s sake, Cullen was beating a lyrium addiction that killed most men. How the hell was that weak?

_He’s of common blood._

_What do I care about that?_

_Your blood is anything but._

_How do you know? Aella?!_

The voice is her head that was her yet not laughed. _I’m no longer Aella, dear girl. I am you. We are one and the same. And your heritage demands respect._

Her heritage? As Aella? Or as Aislinn? Did that mean she was Thedosian after all?

Aella fell silent. This was bad. Now she was hearing voices of spirits? Or was this a demon? While she was awake? Did she dare even tell anyone? If any of them thought she was possessed… A shiver wracked her frame. _No. Cullen wouldn’t allow that. It’ll be okay. I can handle this. She’s just full of bullshit anyways. I am stronger than this. I have to be._

“Mama, we’re done. I’m sorry we painted the horses.” Shuffling toward her, Lochlan peered up at Aislinn, his fingers pruned from being soaked in sudsy water for so long, shirt and hair plastered against his skin.

She bent at her knees, and pulled her son into a hug. “It’s okay, Loch. No lasting harm done, see? And now the horses are even prettier. Come on, let's go upstairs. We both need a bath before supper.”

“And then I can go see Alistair?” He perked up almost instantaneously. “I want to show him Mimo!”

“After supper, you can show him Mimo,” she agreed.

“You think he’ll like her?”

“I’m sure he’ll love her, sweetie.” 

*** 

Cullen felt like he was adrift at sea on a rotting raft- panicked, angry, and nauseous. This supper was one of the largest events yet. Now that King Alistair had finally arrived, despite the fact that the man was trying to remain inconspicuous to the other nobility, Josephine had gone all out. There was a feast to rival none other, musicians, dancing, oh, the fucking dancing. All night he had stood on guard just right of the throne, unable to protest in the slightest as Aislinn was passed from one noble to another, her gentle, courtly smile firmly plastered across her face, lecherous, wandering hands grazing over her waist, her ass, flitting over her breasts when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. He would kill them all.

And to make matters worse, Lochlan had been attached to the king all night, who in turn, was lavishing all his attention on the boy. On _his_ son. Too see that rapturous, eager grin on Lochlan’s face as he enthusiastically told Alistair about his adventures and stories, the same look that was usually reserved for him- it was almost too much to bear.

At least Alistair was not faring any better than he when it came to Aislinn. A near permanent scowl creased the king’s brow every time he glanced up to watch as the other suitors monopolized her body and her time, glaring at their shifty fingers.

It wasn’t that he was particularly worried that any of her other suitors would steal her away; she had already made her distaste of the other men well-known. Her dislike of Orlais and the game extended to the Grand Duke Gaspard and the newly minted Duke Laurent de Ghislain. And she would never accept a man like Cordona, who saw her only as a trophy and breeding mare for his heirs, someone who would take away her free will and hold her prisoner in her own home. _I’d actually like to see him try_ , Cullen thought with a smirk. _Aislinn would tear him apart._

No, the only person he was leery of was the king. He had seen them together, earlier that day in the stables. For a minute, he had been amused, as it seemed as if Aislinn was yelling at him, but then… Her face had softened and she had reached for his hand. Willingly. At least it was nothing more. Yet.

Maker’s breath, what had gotten in to him earlier? Yelling at her like that? She was right to treat him as she did. If it had been one of his own men that had spoken him in such a manner, he would have thrown him out for pure insubordination. What had he been thinking?

Fear. Watching her face down five attackers at the same time, Bull goading her into using more of her magic. All those blades and spells and arrows. He knew she had a barrier up, and that she was careful, but to see her actually fight like that… When had he ever really seen her in battle, anyways? Had he ever? No, he had only ever read the reports and witnessed the aftermath and watched her spar. If that was how she moved out in the field, Maker.

How powerful was she?

Gratefully accepting the glass of wine a servant brought him, Cullen downed the entire thing in one, long draught. His headaches had been particularly rough since the suitors had descended on Skyhold, the brief respite brought by Aislinn just a few days before long gone. _These damn withdrawals_ , he thought bitterly. _I wonder if I ever shall be free_. It wasn’t really fair of him, was it, to ask Aislinn to be with him, not when he was still chained in such a manner. But nor could he ask her to wait. If he turned her away now, Alistair would surely swoop in and sweep her and Lochlan away from him. He was not sure he would survive losing her a second time. He had barely survived the first.

What would be the best for her? For him to step away, let Alistair marry her? She could be happy with him. And Lochlan adored the man. Was that what she wanted?

_Shouldn’t that be up to her?_

The throbbing in his head increased until he could barely see straight. It felt as if the entire room was wobbling, even the soft candlelight too much. Maybe, if he asked politely, Aislinn would heal him? She had always seemed pleased before when he asked for her help with his symptoms, glad when he swallowed his pride to come to her. Yes, that was what he would do. And then he would apologize, beg her, if he had to.

And here was his chance.

With a tilt of her head, Aislinn motioned for Cullen to follow her as she slipped down the stairs that led to the basement. Every muscle in his body stiffened. Why was she asking him to go down there? As opposed to just bringing him to her bedroom? Or why had she not come up to ask him personally? Was he simply some lovesick puppy, bound to follow her orders, forever trailing after her heels?

 _Stop this. She must have a reason. Do not mess this up, Rutherford_. Honestly. He loved her. Anywhere she asked him to go, he would obey, without hesitation, to the Void itself. And here all she was asking was for him to go to another room. _You’re an idiot_ , he told himself as he stepped out of the main hall.

He found her leaning underneath a torch, her eyes closed and weary. “Hey, there,” she smiled as she saw him enter the empty chamber. “I’ve missed you tonight.”

 _Don’t mess this up don’t mess this up_. “I’m sure,” he snorted. _Fucking fantastic, you utter ass._

Jerking her head up, she frowned up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Never mind. I missed you too.”

“You obviously have something else you wanted to say, so say it.” Her tone came out colder than she had intended, but she was exhausted from dealing with coy quips and half-truths and obvious touches all night from those bloody nobles. 

With a heavy sigh, he raised his eyes, guarded and shuttered, to hers. “You didn’t seem to mind the attention. That is all.”

“I- what?!” She spluttered. “This again? I could hardly refuse them!”

“Couldn’t refuse their wandering hands?” He raised a haughty eyebrow. “I highly doubt that. You could have, you just didn’t want to.”

“Are you seriously suggesting I enjoyed being pawed like some-”

“Hey, leave her alone!” Alistair had seen her slip through the door, so he had followed her, hopeful at finally getting her alone so they could have a moment to talk in private. Instead, he had heard the sound of angry voices, hers incredulous, and the Commander’s, accusing.

“This has nothing to do with you, _Your Majesty_ ,” Cullen spat, turning his piercing glare on the other man.

“I’m making it my business,” moving to stand beside Aislinn, Alistair placed himself between the two. “I won’t let her be spoken to in such a manner. Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured gently. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

“Are you that eager to bed her again?” Leaning against the wall, Cullen watched the king, his stance casual but his eyes dark with simmering rage. “Steal her back from me? Again?”

Spinning back to face the Commander, Alistair’s face grew red with his own fury. “I never stole a damn thing from anyone,” he hissed. “She wanted me, after you abandoned her. I gave her what you wouldn’t! A home, a safe place for her and Lochlan.”

“If it hadn’t been for you, she would be back where she belongs, with me!”

“If it hadn’t been for you, she would have been happy,” Alistair retorted scornfully. “Besides, without me, she would have stayed in the alienage, or ended up back in a Circle, in Kinloch. And Lochlan would have been orphaned. Was that what you intended? Oh yes, that was the much better solution,” he chuckled darkly.

Cullen scoffed at the sheer ridiculousness of his words, forcibly ignoring the kernel of truth that was tugging at his heart. “And all she had to do was whore herself out to you.”

The king laughed louder this time, shaking his head with derision and pity. “Is that what you think? No, she willingly accepted, believe me. Besides,” Alistair’s eyes raked disdainfully over the Commander’s tall form. “Why would she want _you_ when she could have me?”

Lurching to stand at attention, Cullen advanced on him. “You?” he spat. “A whiny ingrate who had to be forced to lead? Dragged to the throne, kicking and screaming?”

Alistair took a step to meet the man halfway, drawing himself up to his full regal authority. “You are bordering on treason, Commander,” he warned in a low voice.

“With all due respect, _fuck you_ , Your Majesty.”

“Why, you-”

“Will you both shut up?!” The entire room crackled with electricity, a massive force dampening the air until both men were struggling to draw breath. “You-” she whirled on Cullen, then Alistair, her entire body vibrating with barely controlled rage. “Both of you. I’m _done_.”

It wasn’t until that she had stomped out of the room, the door slamming behind her so hard that the walls groaned and mortar crumbled from the ceiling, that her magic finally relented. “Shit,” Alistair gasped. “Damn it, I never meant…”

“Nor did I,” Cullen murmured as his knees hit the floor. Maker and Andraste, what was wrong with him? After everything he had promised to her, to himself- was this all he was? A loose grenade, waiting to explode? Waiting to ruin everything yet again?

“So what now?” Staring at Alistair, who now lay slumped against the wall, Cullen shrugged. It was over, that’s what she had said, right? That she was done. Done with both of them.

“I have no idea.”

Outside, Aislinn’s path of destruction continued until she reached the tavern, her magic literally blowing the door off the hinges. “You-” she jabbed a finger at the Iron Bull, “and you, and you,” to Dorian and Varric, everyone in the building staring open mouthed at the normally sweet and even tempered Inquisitor. “Pack your shit. We’re going to the Hissing Wastes.”

“What?” Dorian yelped. “When?”

“ _Now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative name for this chapter- everyone in a bad mood.
> 
> Updates probably coming every 2-3 days until I build a buffer back up :) And figure out what the hell I'm doing.


	38. To Reconcile

It was a disaster. Josephine would not even look at him after she had learned that he was the reason Aislinn had left in the middle of the night, and she was even barely civil to Alistair for his part in the Inquisitor’s flight. And Leliana… Well. Not like he slept these days anyways. Easier, at least, to keep an eye open, just in case.

Even the rest of Aislinn’s companions regarded him with something akin to veiled hostility or cold indifference. Everyone was furious, as they should be. This entire situation was his fault, and why? Because of his jealousy? His paranoia? His own insecurity? She had told him, explicitly, that she loved him. That she chose him, wanted to be with him. And he had just ignored it, thrown it all away in a childish tantrum.

Whatever happened now, he deserved.

Alistair had talked of returning to Denerim the day after Aislinn and her team departed. Only in the face of Lochlan’s tearful begging had the king relented, and promised to stay longer. The boy really did love Alistair. Why had he been so adverse to the shared affection between the two? Was having more people who loved his son a such a terrible thing? The king, despite Cullen’s own hangups about the man, was a kind, considerate person, friendly, not at all like other nobility, given his more humble upbringing. He was a man of the people, and it showed in every facet of his personality. That he had not wanted to be king, well- he had grown into his role quite well, if the Commander was being honest. How would Cullen have reacted, had it been him? At least he had chosen to become a templar. Alistair had been given to the Chantry against his will, made a Grey Warden by Rite of Conscription, forced onto the throne. None of his life had ever been his.

And now, all he wanted for himself was the woman Cullen loved.

If he had been a better person, he would back away, let the king have her. Remove himself from the situation and make the choice less painful on Aislinn. But, as it had long been established, Cullen was not a good man, not like Alistair. 

_Not like it makes a difference now. I doubt she’ll have anything to do with either of us._

Cassandra, of all people, had tried to offer him some comfort, suggesting that Aislinn just needed time away to gather her thoughts. But Cullen didn’t completely believe that. Never had she used her magic in anger against her friends. And he was positive she would never used it against him, of all people. That almost feral reaction, that harsh, cruel glint in her eye last night- that was not Aislinn. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if that was the Inquisitor. It was as if someone else had taken over her, like she-

Like she was possessed.

His quill dropped from his hands, splattering ink across the parchment he had been scribbling on. _No, that’s impossible, just because she was upset with you doesn’t mean she was not herself_ , he scolded himself. _Besides, Aislinn would never accept a deal from a demon._

But what if she hadn’t accepted? What if she had been forced? Could it be…? Her eyes had been growing more silver by the week recently. Last night, practically all of her normally dark brown irises had lit up like lightning. And what was that the Iron Bull had been saying the day they sparred? 

_“You’re not using it.”_ Using what? Her magic? She had been casting, but the way she wielded her spells that day was unlike anything he had ever seen or felt before. It was more primal, almost ancient. Dangerous. Demonic?

Shoving his chair away from his desk with a loud screech, Cullen practically sprinted across the bridge that led from his tower into the keep. His hand clasped the handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white, throwing the door open with a loud crash that echoed through the tower. “Solas,” he panted, not from exertion, but from the panic that was rapidly rising in his chest. “I need your help. Please.”

“Commander?” Curious, Solas glanced up from his book, and set it down carefully. “Of course. With what may I assist?”

“Not here,” Cullen muttered, all too aware of the eyes that were watching from above the solar. “My office, please.”

“As you wish.”

The walk back to his tower was much more subdued than his frenzied dash just a few moments ago. Shutting the door behind the elf with a soft click, Cullen began to pace the length of the room, trying to sort through his questions as Solas stood calmly, patiently waiting.

“Aislinn,” he finally said. “Have… you noticed anything different about her recently?”

“Different how, Commander?”

“Her magic, what else,” Cullen snapped, then grimaced in apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- This is- Maker,” collapsing in his chair, he buried in his face in his hands, scrubbing his cheeks and eyes against his roughened palms. “Have you noticed her eyes? Once, they were dark brown. The same color as Josephine, or Dorian. Then, at Haven, I began to notice silver flecks within her irises. The flecks turned into rings around the outer edges when she came back from her mission from the Storm Coast, with the Qun. Something happened there, something with her magic. I don’t know what, but the Iron Bull was trying to get her to do it again the morning she left. And that night, when we… argued, she cast. And her entire eyes glowed silver, like lightning.”

Solas sank into the chair opposite the Commander, a dark, pensive cloud crossing his face. “I have noticed some… irregularities around her in the Fade. It was only at night, while she slept, that I would notice the Fade swirling more turbulently around her, but, as you mentioned, since she came back from the mission with the Qun,” he shook his head. “Something has changed, certainly.”

“It’s not a demon, is it?” Cullen’s eyes were wide and haunted, practically begging Solas to tell him it wasn’t true, that it was only his old fears and wild imagination.

“I… am not sure. I do not think so, at least. The Inquisitor is a strong woman, and a more powerful mage than we all realized,” pale blue eyes met amber. “I would be extremely surprised if she gave in to a demon, Commander. And I am very seldom surprised.”

A powerful breath, one that he didn’t even realize he had been holding, exhaled from his lungs, his chest collapsing as he slumped in his chair. “Thank the Maker,” he whispered.

“I will do some research, and report back when I have more clarity on the matter,” Solas inclined his head. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“No,” standing, Cullen offered his hand, to the elven mage’s surprise. Never had the two men been what either would call friendly, as the former templar cradled his deep seated, innate distrust for all apostates, but it was high past time for him to let that go. “I appreciate your insight, and any help you can give, Solas.”

“It would be my pleasure, Commander.”

Waiting until the elf had left, Cullen pulled open one of his drawers and reached in for the half empty bottle of whiskey that he kept for emergencies. _Did this classify as an emergency?_ He shrugged to himself, and poured a liberal serving of the dark golden liquor.

She had to be alright. She had to. What else would he do? Could he still remain true to his vows, and strike her down if she was possessed?

_Andraste guide me, don’t even think about it. You heard Solas. And you know her. Aislinn is strong, willful. Demons have no sway over her._

The alternative was too painful to even imagine.

***

This trip was not turning out at all like he had planned. The idea had been to ride in, sweep Aislinn up in a knee buckling, swooning style kiss, get down on one knee, ask her to marry him, and then spend the rest of his time in Skyhold alternating between lying in bed with her and playing with Lochlan.

At least the boy still loved him.

He knew he shouldn’t have reacted the way he did. Of course, she got angry. The mature, adult thing to do would have been to walk away, be the bigger man. But when had he ever been complimented on his maturity? _You really screwed it up big time, Theirin_ , he sighed to himself. And now he was stuck in Skyhold, spending his time listening to Gaspard prattle on about military operations, the hunger for Ferelden obvious in his beady eyes. Why was the Grand Duke even here? Surely he knew that Aislinn would never marry him, an Orlesian, of all things. And the others, pffft. An Antivan who would treat her as a glass vase, and a prince that was a more devout Andrastian than the Divine herself? They were wasting their time.

His only real competition here was the Commander, and the man knew it. Probably had started scheming to win her back before Alistair had even left Skyhold the last time.

Wait. What if he had managed to get her back? After all, they did spend a lot of time together, the Inquisitor and her military advisor. It wouldn’t be a far stretch of the imagination to think that they had grown closer in the months since Alistair had to break it off with her. But no, she wouldn’t, would she? After all he put her through? Would she really go back to him?

She might have, for Lochlan’s sake. And there would be no competition there, an interloper versus the lad’s true father. Not that Alistair wanted to come between them, but… It was nice, to be admired and wanted. Loved, even. It gave him the illusion of having a family of his own. Such a cruel dream. _Things such as family and getting what you want have never been in the cards for you. When will you learn?_

Either way, he needed to apologize. Suck up his pride, and talk to the Commander. Which is how he found himself on the battlement walls, just outside of the tower, pacing back and forth. _Just knock. Go inside. Be the bigger man, at least this time. For her._ Right, he could do this. Squaring his shoulders, Alistair marched himself up to the door, and knocked.

“Enter,” came a gruff voice.

Pushing the door open, he strode inside, hoping he projected an air of casual confidence, rather than the stomach turning anxiety he actually felt. “Commander,” he nodded. “Do you have some time?”

“Y-Your Majesty,” Cullen started, cursing as he knocked over an ink well in his scramble to stand. “Ah, yes, of course, come in, please. May I offer you anything?”

“Don’t suppose you have anything harder than water in here,” Alistair remarked almost wistfully.

With a small smirk on his face, the Commander leaned down behind his desk, and procured from somewhere inside a dusty bottle and two glasses. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Taking the glass gratefully, Alistair squinted into the amber depths and raised it. “To… the two biggest idiots Thedas has ever seen.”

Cullen snorted. “I can drink to that.”

It was strange, how the silence between the two men was not as awkward as he feared. In fact, it was almost comfortable. Clearing his throat of the burn, Alistair glanced up. Cullen was in rough shape- his eyes were dull and hollow, ringed by dark shadows, and a rough layer of stubble coated his chin. Even his immaculately styled hair was slightly mussed, probably from running his fingers fretfully through it all the time.

“I apologize, for what I said last night,” Cullen began before the king could say a word. “It was wrong and unfair of me. You have done an admirable job as ruler of Ferelden, and we are lucky to have you.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” Alistair muttered. “I did have to be dragged to the throne. I never wanted to be king. I only wanted to be Alistair, and serve the Wardens, not deal with the likes of Gaspard every day for the rest of my life.”

“And you do it alone."

“...Yes, I do. I mean, I do have advisors and my court, but,” he shrugged. “It’s not the same.”

“A queen would help, wouldn’t it? Someone like Aislinn?” Cullen’s eyes were downcast, staring intently at a point on the floor across the room. What was he saying?

“It would,” Alistair replied slowly. “She would make an amazing queen.”

“She would be incredible at anything,” a soft, aching smile curled at his lips.

“You still love her.”

“As do you.” Raising his head, Cullen breathed a weary sigh. “You were right. If it hadn’t been for you, Aislinn would probably have ended up in Kinloch or worse, and Lochlan…” he shook his head. “I can’t even bear to think about it. You gave them a safe place to live. Took care of both of them, treated Lochlan as if he were your own. For that, you have my unending gratitude.”

“They made it easy,” Alistair murmured. “The pleasure was all mine. But I do not think she wants to be queen. She’d be happier in a quiet life, in the country. And that I cannot give her.”

“And I can?” Cullen scoffed, running a hand through his styled locks just as Alistair had imagined it. “I- I quit taking lyrium,” he said softly, so softly the king had to lean in to catch his words. “There is a very likely chance I won’t survive it, or that it will take my mind. What could I truly offer her?” With that, he nodded to himself, as if he had reached some internal conclusion. “I won’t stand in your way, should you still wish to court her. Aislinn and Lochlan deserve the best. Not a broken man such as I. Maker’s breath, that entire argument was my fault. If I had just kept my stupid mouth shut…”

“No, it was mine,” Alistair waved away Cullen’s protests. “I should not have interfered, as you said. And it would be best, for Lochlan to be with his real father. I will return to Denerim.”

“Your Majesty, you can’t-”

“Lochlan will be fine, he has you after all and-”

“No, Aislinn needs you, I could never be what she-”

“She needs you, Commander, not the drudgery of the nobility-”

“That’s nonsense, she excels at handling the nobility, you said it yourself she’d make a fine que-”

“No, Commander, that is not what she would want, and I could not-”

Cullen’s low chuckles startled Alistair, and instantly, he felt the irritation and exasperation that had been building subside, a wide grin splitting his face. “What a pair we are.”

“It would seem that way,” Cullen smiled. “She would set us both on fire, if she could hear us. Trying to decide her fate for her.”

“As it stand, she may never want to see either of us again,” Alistair groaned. “Someday, I swear I will learn to not be such an arse.”

“That makes one of us. I don’t know if she’ll forgive either of us. I’ve never seen her that angry, in all the years I’ve known her.” Grabbing the almost empty bottle of whiskey, Cullen topped off Alistair’s glass, then his own.

“I didn’t even know she could get mad,” Alistair laughed. “Irritated, yes. She’s actually adorable when she’s frustrated.”

“The way her nose wrinkles,” Cullen smirked. “And then she pouts. It still doesn’t compare to her smile.”

“Commander, the sun itself can’t compare to her smile.”

“Cullen, please, Your Majesty.”

“Only if you call me Alistair.”

Grasping the king’s extended hand in his own, Cullen shook it firmly. Maybe there was hope for them yet, as responsible and mature adults.

The door slowly creaked open, both men smiling fondly as a little boy peeked inside. “Papa! Alistair!”

“Hey pup,” his father called. Perching on the sofa next to the others, Lochlan frowned down at his hands.

“When’s Mama coming home? She never said bye to me,” his young voice quavered, legs swingingly idly to and fro.

“She had some important business to take care of, and had to leave late last night. I know she wanted to say goodbye, but she probably didn’t want to wake you,” Cullen moved to sit next to the boy, wrapping one arm around him. 

Taking the other side of the sofa, Alistair gently picked up one of Lochlan’s hands, cradling it in his own. “You know she loves you and misses you very much. Besides, I’m staying here, at least until she gets back, just like you asked. How about we do something fun, hmm?”

“Really? Can we go riding?” Turning so fast, it made Alistair’s eyes cross, Lochlan bounced up and down on the cushions. “Papa, can we all go together and have another picnic?”

“If you want,” Cullen agreed. “But no more bringing back animals. Your mother will kill me.”

“Okay,” he grinned. “Alistair, I can show you my new sword skills! Papa’s been showing me. I’m going to be a great knight like him one day. Maybe even the greatest knight Thedas has ever seen!”

“I’m not a knight, pup,” his father chuckled.

“Hmm,” Alistair mused. “Well, you are learning from the best. If you weren’t the greatest knight in all of Thedas, I’d be surprised.”

“You should spar, you know,” Lochlan informed them both. “I’d like to see that.”

“Spar?” Cullen glanced up at the king, who shrugged.

“Sure, why not. I could use the practice, can’t have me going soft while I laze about in Skyhold, can we?”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

“I look forward to it.”

“This is gonna be the best ever,” Lochlan whooped. “Mama’s gonna be so sad she missed it.”

Laughing as he stood, Alistair held out his hand. “You can tell her all about it when she comes back. Come on, Loch. You need to clean up before supper. Er, if you don’t mind me taking him up, Cullen.”

“No, go ahead,” Cullen side-eyed the pile of reports he had waiting still. “I’ve got to finish up a few more things before the meal.”

“Can I bring Mimo upstairs with us?”

“ _No_ ,” both men exclaimed.

“Aww. I never get to do anything fun,” the lad pouted.

“I’m sure you’re very deprived,” Alistair drawled. “Come on, let’s wash up.”

Watching as they left, Cullen smiled to himself, settling back into his desk. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, having Alistair here. After all, having more people to love Lochlan was always a good thing, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bros. I can't ever picture Cullen and Alistair as anything less than friends, not for very long at least.
> 
> Somehow this fic reached 200 kudos and I'm all *insert happy dance squealing face here*. Thank you to everyone who's read, liked, and commented so far! I loves you all.
> 
> Edit- I somehow posted two of the same chapter, so I deleted one and lost a few comments. :(


	39. Lady of Rialto

Catalina was bored. She had to admit, it was nice being back in Ferelden. Antiva was always just too warm and the air far too wet for her liking. But that she would come back here, with him of all people-

Just, ugh. She supposed he was tired of wasting his money sending assassins after her, trying to get rid of his dirty little secret, but she could care less. Why couldn’t he just let her go, let her disappear back into world? She wouldn’t ever use her surname again. Or do anything to undermine his “rule”. That would imply that she cared about her lineage, and that would be a lie. Catalina didn’t do lies very well. At least, not to herself.

So here she was, dragged along to the middle of the Frostback Mountains, just a loose string that Rafael was worried about embarrassing him. If only she had been born just another spineless, delicate, normal Antivan noblelady. But no. She had too much of her mother in her. Too much “uncultured barbarian” flowing through her tainted veins.

Rolling her eyes at the thought of yet another of her brother’s lectures, Catalina wandered down into the courtyard, eyeing the training dummies set up in a corner near what sounded like an armory. Intrigued, she picked her way over, grumbling about the fact that Rafael had the maids go through her luggage and confiscated all her practical clothing, leaving only damned skirts and dresses for her to wear. Who cared if she wore breeches? The Inquisitor, the woman he came to court, wore leggings all the time. She also wouldn’t give Rafael the time of day, which amused Catalina to no end. Dear brother was not used to being ignored, and his childish tantrums were highly amusing to behold.

There was only one woman using the practice field, a stunning dark haired Nevarran, a Seeker, by the looks of her armor. Ignoring her, Catalina rifled through the practice weapons on a nearby rack, selected two weighted daggers, and positioned herself several paces away from the straw filled dummy. It had been awhile since she had the opportunity to practice, the staff loyal to her brother made sure of that, but it only took a few throws for her to get back in the rhythm. _Inhale, aim, flick, release on the exhale_. It would have been immensely more satisfying to be able to use the daggers in close quarter combat, like her mother had taught her, but her stupid dress was not conducive to such. Throwing would have to suffice, for now.

“You are quite good at that.”

A small smile graced Catalina’s face for what felt like the first time in years. “Thank you, Seeker?” The Nevarran nodded.

“Cassandra Pentaghast, my lady. You are Lord Cardona’s sister, correct?” Wrinkling her nose, Catalina stifled a snort of disgust as she nodded. “Curious, your accent is different. I would almost say Ferelden?”

“My mother was Ferelden, Seeker Pentaghast,” she replied. “Rafael and I only share a father.” _Thank the Maker. If I were full-blood to that pompous, conniving piece of shit…_

A commotion behind the women convinced them both to turn, Cassandra grinning in anticipation as two tall men took the training circle. “Looks like our Commander is about to spar. Would you care to watch, Lady Cardona?”

Her curiosity piqued, Catalina nodded, and moved closer to the rail. The blonde Commander was handsome; she had heard him speak several times since her arrival, and his familiar accent soothed her in a way she had thought was not possible. Maker, but she missed this place, and its people. The other man, she had not seen before. He was just as tall as the Commander, probably a good foot taller than she, and slightly broader, with warm copper hair that was closely cropped to his handsome head. They seemed evenly matched, to her eyes.

Donned in similar heavy plate armor, and gripping identical practice swords and shields, the men moved into position, circling each other as they traded verbal spars and tentative jabs, both of their faces alight with the anticipation of the fight. And then, the redheaded man lunged.

These were not the sensual blades of Antiva, nor the foppish duels of Orlais. This was pure, brute strength with a hidden grace, like watching two wolves collide in battle. Or lions. Every time she thought one of the men had the other, the one on the defensive would roll away at just the last minute, or block a blow with his shield that was so strong, it rattled her teeth even from several feet away. They were magnificent, true warriors like the knights from her childhood.

“They are incredible, are they not?” Cassandra smiled at the younger woman’s open admiration.

“It almost appears as if they are dancing,” Catalina murmured. “I’m sure I’ve never seen the like.”

To her left, a young boy cheered both of the men on, the dwarf at his back ensuring he did not pitch himself off the fence. “Go Commander! Go Alistair!”

No title? Honestly, she was surprised. A man that could move like that, surely he at least held some sort of rank in the army. Although, there were several mercenary groups that were employed by the Inquisition, like the one led by that massive, scarred Qunari that had accompanied the Inquisitor. Perhaps this Alistair was one of them.

“Lady Cardona? Your brother wishes to see you,” one of their staff bowed just behind her.

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid he insists, my lady.” Glaring at the hapless servant, Catalina smoothed her skirts, and held her head as high as she was able.

“Very well. Lead me to him.”

***

That spar had been just what he needed. Rolling out muscles that would be sore come morning, Alistair grinned to himself. When had he last had a match as satisfying as that? _I wonder if I can convince Cullen to move close to Denerim after all of this is over. Just so he can help keep me on my toes. Official sparrer? Is that a thing? I could make it a thing._

Sinking into the stuffed chair by the fire, he swirled his goblet of wine, slowly sipping at the heady liquid. _I wonder how Aislinn is doing, if she’s still mad at us. If she knew Cullen and I mended our differences, she’d probably throw something at us and be even more upset_ , he chuckled at the thought. _Yell at us about how couldn’t we have done that before we acted like idiots_. Maker, how he wished she was here. In his room. Curled up on his lap, like she used to, so long ago. Two years? Had that really been it? It felt like a lifetime.

Leaning his head back, Alistair let his thoughts wander, his mind bringing back memories of the last night they had spent together, before she had left for Haven. If he had known all of this would happen, he never would have let her go. What was he thinking anyways, sending her to a warzone without him? He had lost his mind.

His stomach rumbled, loud and angry. Groaning loudly, he glared at his midsection. Damn his Grey Warden appetite. Luckily, Aislinn had alerted the kitchen staff to his particular dietary needs, so he knew there would be a snack of some sort waiting for him in the larder. _Might as well go get it now, before my hunger wakes the entire keep._

Leaving the worn trousers and tunic he wore already on, Alistair stuffed his feet into the softest, most scuffed up pair of boots he owned, thankful that he had come here without his entourage. It was almost ridiculously easy to blend in with the other common folk, not a soul recognizing him without his crown besides a few of Aislinn’s inner circle, who had all agreed to silence on the matter. To be just Alistair again, well. It was like a dream come true.

The main hall was empty this late at night, only shadows keeping him company as he crept down into the kitchens. Toeing open the door, Alistair headed immediately for the pantry and began rummaging around, looking for that cheese that Aislinn had told him she ordered for his arrival. “Where-” he muttered.

“Ah, looking for this?” Jerking up, he turned to face the thief, who happened to be a pretty young woman, standing sheepishly behind him next to a block of the crumbly white cheese.

“I was,” he smiled warmly at her. “Mind sharing?”

“Not at all,” she shoved the wheel across to where he stood.

“Alistair,” he said by way of introduction, as he returned to the larder to continue his hunt, this time for bread.

“Catalina,” she offered.

“Catalina,” he mused. “That’s a lovely name. So did you not eat enough at supper either?”

“Ah, no,” she blushed. “My brother was displeased with me today, and so I did not eat supper.”

“What? That’s absolutely barbaric,” he spluttered. “Who is he? I should have words with him.”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “Please don’t. He’s, um, Lord Cordona. Half brother, really.”

“The Antivan prince?” Alistair raised his eyebrow. So this was no mere woman. A lady of the highest order. “You don’t sound Antivan, my lady. You sound Ferelden.”

“My mother was Ferelden,” she shrugged. “She- well, I’m sure you don’t wish to hear the sordid tale of my heritage. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“Nonsense,” waving his knife around, he motioned for her to continue. “I’d love a bit of conversation with my snack, if you feel up for sharing, my lady.”

“Catalina, please. Or Cat.”

“Cat,” he grinned at her blush. She was quite pretty, he realized, with bright green eyes that almost glowed in the candlelight, a slim, aristocratic nose, and rich, chocolate brown curls that cascaded down her shoulders.

“Well,” she took a sip of water. “My mother was a Ferelden noblelady, married to Lord Cordona of Rialto, Antiva,” her Antivan accent was flawless, and eerily reminiscent of the ambassador’s. “But life in Antiva did not suit my mother well. For households run by a male, the women are expected to be seen, not heard, only to serve as demure trophies, another perfect statue to line the estate’s halls. To bear children, run the staff, and dress prettily for her husband. Never to do anything as scandalous as wield a weapon.”

“I take it that didn’t end well?”

“Hardly. She was, after all, a Cousland. Have you heard of them?”

Alistair started. She was related to the Teyrn of Highever? He rather liked Fergus, his no nonsense attitude, although… “I had heard the entire Cousland line, save the current Teyrn, was wiped out during the Blight,” he replied with a measured voice.

“My mother was the former Teyrn’s sister,” she sighed. “Not that I ever met the man, but she always spoke of him fondly. She… fled Antiva, and brought me here, to Ferelden. We never returned to Highever, for she was afraid Lord Cordona would come looking for us there, perhaps send the Crows after her brother. So we hid in the country, outside of Gwaren. We had a good life,” her face turned wistful. “A simple life, but happy. Until she died, about five years ago. The land that far south was still recovering from the Blight, and I struggled to make ends meet alone. It was a year later that Rafael found me, and offered me what I thought was the deal of a lifetime. I had no idea I would be trading my freedom and future for material security,” she finished bitterly. “If I had, I would have gladly stayed and starved in Ferelden.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alistair reached for her hand without thinking. “I lost the man that was like a father to me, twelve years ago. It’s a hard pain to endure.”

“You must think me silly,” her smile was self-deprecating. “Rambling on to a stranger about my private affairs.”

“No,” he shook his head vehemently. “I think you needed a friendly ear, and I’m honored that you chose me.”

Catalina was glad it was dark in here, that the shadows hid the worst of her blush. “I, um, yes. Well. What about you, Alistair? What’s your story?”

How much should he share with him? Would she treat him differently if she knew he was king? “I’m an orphan," he started slowly. "Never knew my father, mother died in childbirth. I was given to the Chantry as a young lad, trained as a templar, until the Grey Wardens conscripted me. And life has been an endless battle ever since,” he chuckled darkly. It wasn’t technically a lie.

“A Grey Warden? That would explain your skill. I watched you spar earlier with the Commander,” she smiled shyly. “It’s actually the reason why Rafael was so mad at me. Very unladylike, he said.” His hand was still on hers, she suddenly realized. The skin of his palm was rough, dry, and oddly comforting.

Noticing her gaze, Alistair flushed and pulled his arm away, all too aware that he had broached the lines of propriety. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him, Cat.”

“It’s only until he finds a husband for me,” her mouth curled into a moue of disgust. “I’m not sure if that will be a change for the better or not.”

“Would you prefer to wed a Ferelden?” he grinned. Maker, why was he asking such things?

Her emerald gaze met his. She hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes were beautiful, a clear, bright blue, like a winter sky. Tiny wrinkles around his mouth and eyes indicated he smiled often and laughed loud. Real, she thought with a longing pang. Open, bold. “I would. But Rafael would never deign,” she snorted the word, “To marry me to a Ferelden, unless it was perhaps the king himself. And then only so he could use the connection to his advantage.”

The king… That was him. He could- What was he thinking? He was here for Aislinn, not this sweet, lovely creature. No matter how his baser instincts encouraged him to sweep her up, hide her from her brother, protect her. No, it was Aislinn he loved, and Lochlan.

“It’s getting late,” she said after the silence grew too much for her. “Thank you for your company, Alistair.”

“Oh, where are my manner?” Jumping up, Alistair bowed gallantly over her hand. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers, Lady Catalina?”

“No, Rafael would die of apoplexy if a man came anywhere near my room,” her laugh was soft, and warm. He wanted to hear more. “I will make do.”

“Sleep well, Cat.”

“And you, Warden.”

Staring at the place where she had just sat, Alistair lost himself in thought. What did he want? Aislinn, right? He loved her still, yet… If he were to be completely honest with himself, she had changed in the months since she left him. The sweet, gentle healer he had fallen in love with had given way in the face of war to the Inquisitor. A powerful, fearsome mage that had all of Thedas bending a knee to her. Would they even still be compatible? Did she still love him? It was hard to say. They hadn’t been able to steal a moment alone since he arrived. Or was she purposely avoiding him?

He needed to talk to her. And figure out what the hell he wanted. He wanted…

He wanted to hear Cat laugh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, should be obvious where I'm going with Catalina haha.


	40. Art Break

A few sketches I've had commissioned so far <3\. First off is a picture of Aislinn. LOOK HOW PRETTY.

By the amazing [AntivanCorvo](http://antivancorvo.tumblr.com/).

And then the cutest picture of Cullen training Lochlan *insert a billion heart eyes*.

By the lovely [Yuhime Barbara](http://yuhimebarbara.tumblr.com/).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lochlan is so fucking adorable, I just want to squeeze him. SQUEEZE.


	41. Cohabited

In hindsight, he probably should have thought her choice of companions through a bit more thoroughly. But no, she had to pick the first few she saw as soon as she walked into that damn tavern, so now she was stuck with the three most nosy bastards in all of Thedas. Who would. Not. Let. It. Go.

The weight of the Iron Bull’s stare bored into her back, along with Dorian’s sounds of displeasure and Varric’s suddenly abrasive laughs, all trying to attempt to break her of whatever shell she had erected over herself. But nothing was working. Even days later, she was still incensed.

How _dare_ they both. Cullen and Alistair, arguing over her like she didn’t exist, like she wasn’t standing right fucking there. Yelling worse than Lochlan had ever tantrumed, her esteemed Commander and the King of Ferelden.

_It was sort of flattering, wasn’t it? To have two such powerful men both desiring you?_

_Flattering? To have two grown men acting worse than children? Fighting over you like you are a mere possession?_

_I did give myself to Cullen…_

_Then why was he acting so insecure?_

_He’s nervous, this is still so new._

_Hmph. A lack of confidence in one’s ability to keep and hold what is his is not attractive, not in the slightest bit. You belong to no one. You have need of no one. None can hold you, you would burn them all in your wake. Take a lover, if you must, but not a mate. None could ever match your glory._

_But I love him._

_I loved once, too. But she knew her place. Under me, behind me. Giving me all she had, to further my ambitions. This Cullen, nor the king, understand their position yet. They wish to walk beside you, as if they were worthy._

_It’s a relationship. A partnership. I don’t want him under me, I want him next to me._

_You are a fool._

_Well, and you’re dead, so..._

_Dead? I think not. My spirit lives on, in you, and it will continue, far after your mortal form is gone. We will never die._

“This is such bullshit.”

“Boss?”

Realizing she had spoken aloud, Aislinn shook her head, trying to clear it of Aella’s venomous thoughts. This had been happening more and more often since that day by the Storm Coast, her former self reaching through to speak to her. And she finally had realized.

Aella’s sacrifice was not as noble as it appeared. She had been a powerful Tevinter magister, back when the Imperium was at the height of its power. Her disgust at the massive sacrifice of elven lives was not for some altruistic idea of their lives, no. It was because it was such a waste of resources. She had not desired to stop Corypheus in some virtuous attempt to save the world and her brother; if he had succeeded, it would have tipped the balance of power in his favor, dethroning her as the strongest mage in the country. And losing her position was one thing Aella would not abide. 

It was to her, that the people bowed, pandered to, begging for her favor. It was to her, that they crawled for advice and assistance. And Sethius thought to usurp her prestige and fame? He should have been content with where he was, in her shadow, grateful that they even shared the same blood. But no. He _dared._

Her head was throbbing. This was not who she was. The anger she had been feeling, was not her. She was kind and gentle, dammit. Content with the simpler pleasures of life. More power was the last thing she desired, God knows she had her fill of the spotlight. What she wanted, as Aislinn, was to disappear into obscurity. With her son. ...And Cullen. As much as she loved Alistair, it was nothing compared to what she felt for Cullen. Her Commander was the very air she needed to breathe, the missing link to the world. She had always known that she loved him, since that fateful day in the Gallows.

_You would share yourself with him? A soporati?_

_I love him._

_No! I will not allow it! You will not tarnish our legacy, Inquisitor. We are destined for much greater things than our previous lives. The world will remember us this time!_

Aislinn fell from her horse with a pained scream, the anchor on her hand flaring a blinding green across the sand.

“Aislinn!” Leaping down onto the ground, Dorian raced over to where she lay, writhing in pain on the sand. “Kaffas! I wish Cassandra were here. I never thought I’d say this, but a Purge would be useful right about now.”

“Can’t you do anything?” Varric winced as she shrieked again, her knuckles bleeding white as she frantically gripped her wrist in a vice-like hold, almost as if she were trying to claw her hand off.

“Trying,” Dorian gritted, pulsing a barrier into her arm. “There. That’s all I can do for now.” Her breathing was still shallow and ragged, but her limbs had stilled, falling limp in the sun warmed sand. “Can you hear me, Aislinn?” She nodded weakly. “Is it alright if the Iron Bull carries you the rest of the way to camp?” Another nod.

“Alright, boss. I gotcha.” Lifting her as if she weighed no more than a kitten, the Qunari gently cradled her against his chest, opting to walk the rest of the way. “Not too far now.”

Luckily, the nearest Inquisition camp was just over the next ridge. Carrying her into her tent, the Iron Bull carefully set her down on her bedroll, ducking out just as Dorian swept in. “How are you feeling?”

“Just tired now,” she muttered, her unmarked arm flung across her eyes.

The altus crouched at her side, fiddling with his barrier and resetting it so that it would last a bit longer, _hopefully through the night_ , he sighed to himself. “Would you like to tell me what that was about? Or do you know?”

She stopped breathing. There was no way she could tell him. _I think my past life is trying to take over my mind. May or may not be a demon. That’s all. How do you explain that?_

But if she couldn’t tell him, who could she tell? Her original plan was to ask Solas for help, and didn’t she trust Dorian infinitely more than that shady elf? Her chest rose as she took a deep breath, and blew it out in a rush of air. “...Is there a way to tell if a mage is possessed?”

He didn’t speak for several moments, simply taking a seat next to her on the rough canvas floor. “Are we talking generalities, or specifics?”

“Both?”

Huffing a sigh, Dorian shook his head. “What’s going on, Aislinn? You’ve been acting strangely lately.”

“I’m…” Why was this so hard to say? Worst case scenario, if she was possessed, they would have to kill her. There was no way she could be allowed back into Skyhold and near her son. And if she wasn’t, then she needed help. Her mental state had been too unpredictable since Aella inserted herself in Aislinn’s mind, and it was affecting everything. God, how much had this little stunt of fleeing to the far reaches of Thedas cost her with the nobility? Cost the Inquisition? “Aella,” she finally whispered. “I’m hearing her. In my head. It’s almost like she’s trying to take over. She’s everything I am not- cruel, demeaning, haughty, power-hungry. I feel myself becoming her, Dorian. Is this possession?”

“If you are asking me if you’re possessed, then no, you’re not. If you were, your mind would not be your own at all,” he patted her arm, trying to offer her some modicum of comfort. “But it is troubling that you’re hearing her. A spirit, perhaps? I wonder if it has something to do with your mark. When it flared earlier, what was happening? In your mind?”

“She’s mad at me. Upset that I want no more power than what I currently have, that I would gladly disappear into the country when all this is over. She’s pissed that the world has forgotten her. And she wants more. Wants me to want more.” Curling up into a tight little ball, Aislinn whimpered into her knees. “It’s getting worse every day. I hear her more and more, and even now, I know she’s listening, waiting until I’m alone again so she can start chipping away at my mind. I’m scared, Dorian.”

“Hush, now,” he murmured. “It will be alright. Solas would be able to help you more than I. I can send a raven back to Skyhold, ask him to meet you in the Fade? Isn’t that a thing he does? Rather creepy, if you ask me.”

Weakly giggling, Aislinn smiled up at her friend. “If you would. Don’t mention anything about why, I don’t want Leliana or the others worrying until I figure out what the hell is going on first.” _Especially Cullen._

“Of course. Now get some sleep, Inquisitor. We have a long night of ruining the Venatori’s day ahead of us, and you need to be in tip top shape.”

“Thanks, Dor,” mumbling, she was already drifting off as soon as he stood up. “You’re the best.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

*** 

_Fairel. He died just before my time, but I remember hearing tales of the dwarves who scurried out of their hole like rattus._

_Do you ever say anything nice about people?_

_...The altus would make an excellent pet._

Rolling her eyes, Aislinn shifted her attention back to the chest in front of her, delicately lifting out the ancient weapon schematics buried within.

“Ooh,” Varric plucked one from her fingers. “Bet I could modify this for Bianca.”

“Interesting,” the Iron Bull paced along the edges of walls, running his hands over the crevices and joins, almost as if he were searching for something. “No traps at all. No pits, arrow traps, nothing to stop us but a door. The builders thought this guy was so important, no one would ever rob him. And the fact that it’s lasted all this time… This is real engineering. None of this ‘we’ll get a mage to lift that block’ crap Tevinter does.”

“Well, pardon us,” Dorian sniffed.

_Let me kill the horned beast. Why do you even tolerate him? Where did his breed even come from?_

_Oh, will you shut up?_

“I think that’s everything useful in here,” Varric called from the other side of the tomb. “Are we going to do anything about that dragon outside?”

Aislinn groaned as the Iron Bull’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated hope and longing. “I’m way too exhausted for this shit. But I suppose if I say no, Bull will cry, so sure. Let’s go kill another dragon.”

“What did I do to deserve a boss like you,” the mercenary sighed happily.

“What did we do to deserve an Inquisitor like you,” Dorian muttered less enthusiastically as he stepped outside. “Ugh. Does that noise ever stop?”

“Well, it’s sand blowing on sand in place full of wind and sand.”

“Thank you,” the mage rolled his eyes at his Qunari lover. “That makes so much more sense now.”

“Focus,” Aislinn snapped. “Dragon. Bull, take point, distract the thing. Varric and Dorian, stay behind, keep it pinned down.”

“What about you, Storm?”

Her eyes lit up, glowing liquid silver, the overwhelming sensation of her mana flowing through her veins making even Varric’s hair stand on end. “Observe for yourself, dwarf.” Little clouds of sand and dust swirled around her feet as she descended down into what was once the courtyard of the tomb, tendrils of electricity snaking along the ground around her.

Heaving a ragged sigh, Varric shook his head, his face suddenly lined and worn. “I’ve seen this before. The glowing eyes, the spirit within. Never ends well.”

“I… do not think it’s a spirit,” Dorian murmured softly as they crept closer to the where the dragon slumbered. “Or if it is, it’s inhabiting her in a most unusual way. I have a feeling it’s connected to the anchor, but I can’t comprehend how. What we need is that damn elf.”

“Well, let’s kill this thing and get her back to Skyhold.”

The others had to admit, even the Iron Bull, although his acceptance was more melancholy than the rest, that the increase in Aislinn’s power was more than useful, especially when fighting creatures like high dragons. The first dragon they had killed, what seemed like a lifetime ago in Crestwood, that battle had taken almost an hour, several lyrium potions, and so many healing potions that the ground was littered with shards of glass. This dragon, a Sandy Howler, was down within fifteen minutes, its limbs twitching with the residual effects of Aislinn’s magic. Or was it Aella’s magic? No one really knew.

Wary tension accompanied the group as they rode back to camp, the first rays of dawn lightening the far eastern horizon. Now that they knew it for what it was, the others were much more cautious not to provoke Aella’s ire, for it was easy to distinguish between the two. Aella treated the Iron Bull like a herdbeast, Varric like a rodent, and Dorian like her personal servant, to the dwarf’s silent amusement. Aislinn cared for them like her own family. The shift was sharp enough to slice through steel.

But it was obvious that the Inquisitor was trying to fight her past self, snippets of her snarling to the thing in her head drifting back through the dry air, muttering her retorts to the angry voice only she could hear. What was it like, Varric wondered, to fight with your own mind? He prayed he never found out.

“Inquisitor!” A scout jogged out of camp to greet them. “Urgent news from Skyhold, Your Worship.” 

Practically throwing her reins at the hapless man, Aislinn imperiously snatched the scroll out of his hands, before shaking her head in an attempt to clear it. “Thank you, Martin,” she said in a more familiar, softer tone.

“Storm?”

“Still me, Var,” her face was drawn and tight, but she attempted a smile, for her friend. “I’m so sorry, by the way. For how I’ve been acting.”

“You’re not yourself, I get it,” he patted her shoulder comfortingly. “It’ll be okay. Get you back to Skyhold, and Chuckles will be able to do something, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied, already distracted by the contents of the letter. “Looks like we have a slight detour before going back home though. Cullen’s found Samson’s base. It’s a few days northeast of where we are now, northern Orlais, in the ruins of what used to be a shrine to Dumat.”

“More desert?” Dorian groaned from across the fire.

“More desert,” she sighed. “Maker, I’m too tired for this. All I want to do is sleep for like, a week. Maybe two. He’s bringing a new team with him, so you three can head back when we catch up with them in Val Foret at least.”

“I’ll stay,” the Iron Bull shrugged. “If you’re going after Samson, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Same,” the other two echoed.

“What would I do without you guys?” she grinned up at them.

“Kill dragons without us, probably,” the Qunari pouted.

Snorting to himself, Dorian muttered, "Oh, the travesty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stalled on writing for a week now, but I think I finally figured out where my next chapter is going. Hooray! Now, I just have to write it. weee.


	42. Apologies and Confessions

“I’m noticing a trend.”

“Hmm?”

Stroking his chin, Dorian studied her as they rode closer to Val Foret. The pale white walls of the town sparkled in the light of the setting sun, casting long, warm rays over the rolling meadows of the countryside. Dotting the hills nestled small, thatched cottages, the rustic scene complete with crispy laundry fluttering on their lines, neat wooden fences, and children and livestock running wild through the dirt roads. Even Cullen would have to admit that Orlais was beautiful, she mused..

“You haven’t cast any magic recently stronger than a small fire spell, have you?”

“Haven’t had a need to, why?” Aislinn cocked her head curiously.

“Aella’s been quiet,” was all he said as he fell silent again.

That’s right. The last time she had heard the other woman, or the spirit, or whatever it was, was when they had cleared out that last camp of Venatori they day they set out. And then, the voice had slowly faded until the only thoughts running through her mind were blessedly her own.

So what did that mean? Was it her magic that was making it worse? All of it, or just her primal spells? Could she heal still? But not casting wasn’t an option either, especially now that they were headed to Corypheus’ general’s own lair. The place was guaranteed to be crawling with red templars and Venatori. She couldn’t just hang back and not fight.

What else could she do? It felt as if she were a dog, chasing its tail. No end and no beginning to her problem. Glancing up as her horse's ears pricked up, she heard the call from the scouts that were riding in front of her. “Inquisition banners spotted!” Squinting her eyes, she could just make out the golden sunburst and eye, whipping to and fro on a crimson flag outside of the city walls. Solas would be there, according to the letter Cullen sent, along with Cassandra, and Sera. Aislinn giggled a bit at that, wondering what the elven archer had put the Commander through on the journey.

The horse next to her snorted and reared its head as its rider jerked sharply in the saddle, craning around to stare at her. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” one side of Dorian’s lips curled up in a lopsided smile. “It’s just… that’s the first I’ve heard you laugh since we left. Dare I imagine it’s because our good Commander is waiting for you?”

“I- um,” she blushed, turning even redder as the Iron Bull pulled his mount up just to leer at her, Varric chuckling quietly behind them. “Oh, look, we’re almost there!” Kicking her horse into a canter, she heard their laughter fade as she urged the mare on, trying to fight the rising heat in her cheeks before she reached the camp.

The letters she had received from Cullen these last few weeks were from the Commander to his Inquisitor, entirely professional, giving her no hint of how he had dealt with her fleeing in the middle of the night, or how Alistair had reacted for that matter. Dozens of letters that she began to write to him had ended up in the fire, each one unsatisfactory, falling short of what she wanted to say, how she wanted to apologize. God, she used _magic_ against him. A former templar. One who had seen and suffered the worst of magic. _Surely he hates me now. And Alistair. I attacked the damn king of Ferelden. Isn’t that punishable by death?_ Not to mention that she had never even said goodbye to her own son before she disappeared into the night.

Slowing her horse the closer she drew, Aislinn stifled a yawn, shaking off her fatigue as she chewed her bottom lip ragged, anxiety flaring in her chest and mind. She could see him from here, the proud lines of his body, standing straight and tall, his mantle ruffling in the slight breeze, the sunset glowing off of his golden hair. The soldier he had been speaking with straightened as she approached, his arm whipping into a salute.

“Inquisitor is here!”

Cullen’s face was impassive as he turned to face her, guarded behind his title and rank. “Inquisitor,” he bowed. “You made excellent time.”

“Yes, we were all eager to leave the Wastes behind us. Commander,” he flinched slightly. “Cullen,” she said, more subdued this time. The corners of his eyes relaxed by the barest fraction. “Could we… talk? After everyone is settled?”

Pausing for the briefest second, for what seemed an eternity to Aislinn, he nodded, just once. “I would like that. Would you like to debrief on the mission now, or later?”

“We’ll have time on the way there, right? Later, then, please. If you would excuse me for just a moment, I need to speak to Solas.”

He blinked a few times, then started as a thought came to him, an unknown emotion strangely akin to fear passing behind his eyes. “Of course. I’ll be around.”

Offering him a tentative smile, Aislinn swiveled to scan the rest of the camp, until her gaze found the one she sought. “Solas,” she called, walking out to meet him. “Do you have a minute?”

“I do,” motioning to the far edge of the ring of tents, he led her out far enough so that no one else would be able to hear them. “How may I help?”

Tiny bits of pollen and dust billowed up as she plopped into the soft grass and fiddled with the smooth, green blades. “It’s my magic. I’m… hearing things. A voice. Aella’s voice, I think. I’m not possessed, am I?”

“If you have to ask, then no,” he chuckled lowly, sitting cross-legged beside her.

“That’s what Dorian said,” she muttered.

“I am curious though. I’ve never in all my wanderings of the Fade, heard of a past reincarnation being able to reach out to the current vessel like this.” Aislinn made a face at that, obviously displeased with being reduced to ‘vessel of spirit’. “I would suspect it has something to do with the anchor. What exactly happens when she appears?”

“It’s… almost like her personality takes over,” her voice fell to a hoarse whisper. “It starts off as her muttering snide and derisive things in my head, about my companions, telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. Everyone is beneath her. Then, her anger and pride start to seep through. It’s tied to my magic as well. Dorian noticed that her presence fades the longer I go without using my magic. But I’m not sure if it’s just my primal and force magic, or all of it. I- I can’t stop using my magic, Solas. You know that, right?” She could feel the tears burning at the back of her eyes, her mind willing them not to fall. Clenching her hand around a clump of weeds, her chest rose slowly as she took a deep breath, one after the other to steady herself.

“Will you meet me tonight in the Fade? I may be able to find more answers there,” he asked after a moment.

“Anything you need, just tell me what to do. This is all beyond me.”

“I’ll find you. We’ll figure out something, Inquisitor,” rising to his feet, he glanced down, surprised when she tugged on the hem of his robes.

“Aislinn,” she smiled wanly up at him.

“Aislinn,” he agreed, inclining his head down to where she still sat.

As his rustling footsteps faded away, she leaned back down into the tall grasses, staring up into the sky as the brilliant pinks and oranges gave way to soft purples and blues, tiny pinpricks of light popping up as night finally fell. Perhaps she was being too hard on Solas, keeping him at arm’s length. He had been nothing but helpful to her, whenever she asked, never broken her trust. Was she simply being unfair, her past coloring her present? Just because he did not wear his heart on his sleeve as some of her other friends did, did not mean he didn't care. 

The familiar creak of armor sliding against leather slowly approached her from the direction of camp, the breeze carrying a faint hint of oakmoss and elderflower to where she lay. 

“You missed supper,” a plate appeared above her head. Dragging herself upright, Aislinn smiled gratefully up at him.

“Thanks,” she took the food. “I got lost in my thoughts for a bit, and I was too exhausted to move.” Nodding his understanding, he turned to go. “Wait, Cullen… Please.” Inhaling a deep breath, she reached up one hand towards him. “Sit with me?” He sat, rather stiffly, his plate rattling as he adjusted himself in the grass. Taking the fork that was on the plate, she idly stabbed a few bites of the roasted ram. “I’m not sure if an apology will even suffice, but I need to say it anyways. I am so, so sorry for what happened the night I left. I never meant…”

“You’re sorry?” Gazing sharply at her, he frowned, the wrinkles around his lips more prominent. “Whatever for?”

“For using magic against you,” she stared back at him in confusion, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to her.

“Oh, that,” rubbing the back of his neck, Cullen gave a nonchalant shrug. “I- we- goaded you into it. Some warning would have been nice, but we really didn’t give you the opportunity, did we? I should be the one apologizing, Aislinn. For saying the things I said, to you, to Alistair, for acting how I did. It was not worthy of me.”

“No,” she shook her head, strands of her dark waves falling loose, “I should have understood how you were feeling, between your withdrawals and Alistair being there, not to mention all the others.”

“That is not your burden to bear, it is mine. You told me you loved me, and yet I still acted like a child, and-”

“But I should have known, and- are you laughing at me?”

Glaring at him, Aislinn pursed her lips as she waited for him to regain his composure, unable to help the small smile at the sound of his laugh, warm and rich. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, his honeyed eyes dancing with mirth. “You’re just so much like Alistair, did you know that?”

“I’m… what?” Her brow puckered, her mind at a complete loss. “Are you feeling well?”

“He came to see me, after you left. And we tried to apologize to each other, and ended up arguing over our apologies,” he grinned.

“So you’re not snipping at each other anymore?” she asked slowly.

He shook his head. “He’s a good man, Linn. And Lochlan loves him. If you,” pausing, his gaze raised to hers. “If you wanted to go back to him, I would not stand in your way. You could be queen, Linn. Have a secure future.”

Aislinn snorted, and huffed an exasperated breath. Turning her head back to the sky, her voice practically dripped with frustration. “I already told you, you stupid templar, I love you. And I only want yo- ah!”

A large, metal weight barreled into her side, pinning her back on the ground. “You still love me?” he demanded.

“I will love you less if you suffocate me,” she wheezed, sighing in relief at his armor removed itself from her diaphragm.

“Sorry,” he grinned, obviously not apologetic in the slightest.

“I can tell,” rolling her eyes, she smirked up at his handsome face, cupping his stubbled cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cullen. For everything.”

“Me too,” nuzzling her cheek, his lips captured hers, soft, gentle, and sweet. Lacing her fingers into his hair, she tilted her head back to give him better access to her mouth, groaning as he carefully tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth. “Maker, Linn,” he murmured against her skin. “Why does every time I kiss you feel like the first time?”

“I don’t know,” she giggled. “But if you figure it out, don’t tell me. I don’t want it to ever stop.”

With a low chuckle, he sat up, pulling her into his lap, her legs straddling his hips. “I love you.” This time, his eyes were open, no wall between his heart and the rest of the world, and she felt his words echo down into her very soul.

“I need to tell you something,” Aislinn whispered. Leaning in, Cullen closed his eyes and began placing kisses that barely grazed her skin along her neck.

“Can it wait,” he muttered huskily, his hands snaking down her body to grab at her thighs.

“Cullen,” groaning, her body reacted instinctively, her hips grinding on his, reveling in the way his length hardened against her. “I- fuck, I need to tell you.”

His fingers teased up her inner thigh, closer and closer to where she ached for him most. “So tell me.”

“I can’t when you do that,” she hissed as a fingertip brushed along her damp leathers. “Cullen. It’s about Aella.”

That got his attention. Pulling away from her flushed skin, he blinked a few times to clear his lust fogged mind. “What about her?”

Aislinn suddenly needed room to breath. Wiggling back, she pushed herself off his lap, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared at the embroidery of his tabard. “Solas is going to try to help me tonight, in the Fade, but- I’ve been hearing her.”

It was strange, how he didn’t seem surprised by her admission. “How long?” was all he asked.

“Shortly after I got back from the failed Qun mission. The day Alistair arrived, actually, is when I recognized it for who she was. Me. Whoever the hell I am now. It started out as her just muttering about things, you, the other suitors, all the elves I’m friends with. She- she’s not a nice person, Cullen,” his hand enveloped hers, squeezing it to let her know he was still there with her. “She was the elite of Tevinter society, and everything that represented. Power and dominance was all that she knew.”

“You said ‘it started out’,” he replied quietly. “Did it change?”

Her eyelids squeezed closed, her head bobbing as she nodded. Swallowing thickly, she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “It almost feels like she’s taking over my mind. Cullen, the things I do and say when she’s in my head, t-they’re not me. And it got worse while we were gone. Dorian thinks it’s tied to my magic. Something happened at the Storm Coast, something _broke_ inside of me and that’s what started all of this. And the more I use the magic, the easier it is to take control and I’m so scared Cullen.” The tears finally began spilling over, leaving behind trails across her dusty skin. “I’m so, so scared. I can’t quit casting. But what if she eventually takes my mind? For good?”

Throwing herself back into his arms, Aislinn buried her face in his mantle, crying so hard her entire body shook with her sobs. All the fear and uncertainty she had kept bottled up inside, hidden from the ones who loved her most, finally came rushing out in a flood of emotion, and it was too much all at once, too strong. Wrapping his arms around her, Cullen pressed his face to her head, trembling himself, memories of another mage who shared a body with a spirit flooding back into his mind. _This isn’t the same thing_ , he reminded himself. _She is not an abomination_. Not yet, at least. “That won’t happen, Linn. I won’t let it. We’ll find a way to help, I promise. Things will be okay.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, _please_.”

“I fully intend to keep it,” he growled. “I will not lose you again, to anything. Whatever I have to do to keep you here with me, I will do it. Hey,” his fingers tapped her chin. “Look at me.” Blinking the tears from her eyes, Cullen gently wiped her face, smearing the dust of the road across her skin. “We’re in this together. I will not abandon you, Aislinn.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, she gave him the tiniest of nods, using her sleeve to wipe the rest of her face. God, how she desperately yearned for a nice, hot bath, the layer of dirt and grime suddenly too much to bear. “Are we all camping out here tonight?”

“Um, we are yes,” he smiled sheepishly. “I may have booked you a room just inside the city. I figured after a few weeks in the Wastes, you would want at least one night in a real bed.”

Slumping against his breastplate, the metal perfecltly warmed to her skin temperature, Aislinn sighed happily. “I love you. Did I mention that?”

“You can say it as much as you’d like. In fact, I encourage it,” she could hear him smile against her hair.

“Are you staying with me?”

“...Would you like me to?” Peering up at him, she wiggled in his lap, ensuring that her hips brushed just the right parts to make him whimper under her. “I’ll take that as a yes.” With a saucy grin, he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her yelp of surprise. The rest of her companions looked on knowingly as the Commander carried their Inquisitor right past the tents, heading for the town gates, Aislinn laughing louder and brighter than they all had heard in a long, long time.

“Would you look at that,” Varric smiled as the two disappeared from view.

Beside him, Cassandra rested her chin in her hands, starry-eyed and teary. “They look so happy.”

All Dorian huffed was, “Finally, I swear.”

“Oy, Varric!” giggling to herself, Sera slid in next to the dwarf. “Anyone win that bet?”

“Bet? Nah,” he shook his head. “I do hold some things sacred, you know. Not many things, but… those two are my exception.” Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, the Seeker snorted in an attempt to hide her smile.

“Miracles do happen, it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff.


	43. Making Plans

The Gallows were so much more sinister without people filling the walls, only an empty stillness and a paperthin echo of memories stirring in the pale stone halls. Sitting on a bench in the high walled courtyard, she watched as translucent spirits passed in and out of the corridors, remnants of what once was. This time, she was ready and waiting on him.

“Aislinn,” Solas appeared beside her. “This was the home of the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall?”

“What it used to be, the way I remember it, yes,” she nodded. It hadn’t been all bad, right? After all, it was here she learned how to harness her magic, how to heal, how to love for the first time. But underneath the surface, the despair and terror of the rest of the mages lurked, simmering just below her fingertips. “So can you feel anything with Aella at all?”

Materializing another chair in front of her, Solas sat down and studied her, looking right at her but, she suspected, not seeing her physically. “You said you hear her after you cast? Would you mind casting something?” She lifted her hand, palm facing up, and a second later, her skin glowed with a golden light. “A healing spell. Curious. Do you feel anything?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Should I try something else?” At his agreement, Aislinn reached for a bit more of her mana, and summoned an arc of lightning above their heads. She winced at the resounding crack that pierced the hollow silence.

“Anything that time?”

“She is… displeased by your presence,” the Inquisitor groaned, rubbing her temple. “Racist bitch.”

“Ah,” the corner of his mouth twitched. “I imagine her thoughts toward elves in general is reminiscent of the majority of Tevinter?”

“Yep.”

“It is interesting, though, that she only reacted to your primal magic,” he mused. “Do it again, if you please, with a bit more power behind it this time.”

Vaguely aware that he was casting himself, Aislinn dug deeper and smirked as she enclosed the entire courtyard in a cage of electricity, only shielding herself at first before gritting her teeth and forcing the barrier out with a grunt to encompass Solas as well.

_Why ever would you need the help of a knife-ear?_

_His name is Solas. You would do well not to use that word around me._

_You name your pets? How quaint. Do you also name your shoes? Your vials of lyrium? Pathetic. Although he is quite powerful, for a rabbit. Imagine how much our power would grow if you took his blood._

_I will_ never _resort to blood magic._

_You say that now, but I can feel your fear, my dear. You are terrified of what is to come. Can you protect your peasant lover? Your son? Your so-called friends? You could save them all with my knowledge. Everything you need, I have._

_I need nothing from you, save your absence._

“Inquisitor?”

Jerking her focus back to the present, Aislinn wiped off the thin layer of sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her soft robes. “Sorry. She’s being herself again.”

“Your mark. The anchor,” he took her hand. “It’s acting as a conduit straight into the Fade, channeling her memories into you. This is not the work of a spirit, nor demon, but simply the nature of the Fade itself. I’m not quite sure how it’s happening, however. I will need more time to study how to seal her essence again, how it was before you somehow broke through that day at the Storm Coast.”

“And my magic?”

“All of this is merely conjecture, you understand.” Staring straight into her eyes, he tapped her heart. “I believe when you use the magic you share with her, it strengthens the connection between you and her. Lightning and force magic. Your healing skills are yours alone, and therefore have no effect. So as long as you only heal, she should stay quiet.”

“Solas, I-I can’t. I’m the Inquisitor, it’s my job to fight,” she replied desperately. “For heaven’s sake, we’re about to go raid Samson’s base. I can’t just hang at the back and let everyone else take the risk.”

“We would, you know,” he smiled gently down at her and released her hand. “None of us would mind at all.”

“It’s not an option,” she shook her head firmly. “There has to be another way.”

“As you wish,” Solas sighed, his brilliant sea blue eyes obviously saddened by her decision. “I will keep searching for an answer. The seal was there in the first place, so it stands to reason it can be remade.”

“Thank you,” touching his shoulder, Aislinn smiled gratefully at the man. “I appreciate all you’ve done for so far.”

A shadow passed so quickly behind his guarded features, so brief that she wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not. “Do not thank me yet. There is still much to come.” With that elegant grace she envied, Solas rose, and bowed at the waist. “I will leave you to your dreams now. Sleep well, Inquisitor.”

Stop using her magic. Stop fighting, and go back to being a healer. Once, that was all she wanted. To stay a healer, help people, but now? Now she could help so many more people by fighting. Taking down as many of Corypheus’ forces as possible. She needed to use her battle magic. There was simply no other way, not while the war still waged.

_Dammit._

Resting her head back on the stone wall, she watched mutely as the scene before her shifted, to the little rusting trailer she grew up in, during what seemed like several lifetimes ago. The yard was mostly bare, covered in gritty pale sand and a few patches of scraggly grass, a few dead leaves and dried Spanish moss littering the ground from the palm and oak trees that swayed above. Lost in the past, she made her way over to the creaky metal swingset in the corner, the edges rusted and sharp, the plastic warped and faded.

This place, she had thought it was her home. Whenever she thought of that elusive word, it was here she always pictured. Not the myriads of foster homes that followed, nor of the tiny apartment she had rented after school. But even while living here as a child, there had been something off. Different. The social workers she had met with chalked it up to a normal symptom of being an orphan, that sensation of never belonging, but hers went farther than that.

And the realization hit her like a freight train. She had never fit in with her classmates in Florida, because she wasn’t from Florida. She wasn't from Earth. She had always been Thedosian, always known she was not the same as anyone else. It’s why she had always been alone and simply adrift, no family or friends to hold her down until-

Until she had returned home. To Thedas.

That meant her birth family was here. She could find them. Should she ask Leliana? Tell Cullen? How would she explain this? 

_No, it's not time yet. I need more evidence first. Proof I have ties here. Then I’ll ask._

***

It was amazing how much difference a real bed, a hot bath, and waking up next to the love of her life could make in her entire world outlook. Stretching her pleasantly sore limbs out against the crisp sheets, Aislinn smiled to herself as Cullen’s arm tightened around her waist, protesting her movement.

“Jus’ a bit longer,” he muttered into the back of her head.

“Everyone’s probably already waiting on us, love,” lightly running her nails along his toned forearms, Aislinn craned her neck back to press soft kisses to the underside of his jaw.

“They’ll be fine.”

Giggling, she twisted in his embrace until she was facing him, and reached up a hand to smooth out the furrows in his brow. Peeking open one eye, he sighed despondently when he realized how awake she already was. “The one morning I’d like to actually sleep in…”

“What happened to,” her voice deepened into a facsimile of his smooth baritone, “‘We must move swiftly to ensure that we reach Samson’s base before he has a chance to- hey! Stop trying to smother me!”

Pulling the pillow off her face, Cullen laughed at her pout, propping himself up on one elbow. “That is what you get for mocking me, Inquisitor. Fine, you win. This time.”

It was funny how easy it was to fall into a comfortable routine around him, how many memories watching him don his armor brought back. All those days in the Gallows when she’d help him dress and undress out of his heavy plate. Fitting each piece onto his body, her fingers working the worn leather straps, in the same, meticulous order. But now, she had her own armor to worry about, so today she settled for watching him with open admiration. His body had filled out since Kirkwall, gaining a richer muscle tone and healthy glow from all the days he spent outside training his men, instead of hidden away inside stone walls. It made her want to drag him back to bed and taste every ridge of his from, a desire that Cullen obviously picked up on from the leering smirk he gave her when he noticed her staring. Shrugging unrepentantly, she snapped her last buckle into place and waited as he finished adjusting his swordbelt, stuffing his leather gloves into his pocket. “Shall we, my lady?”

With a failed attempt to remember that she was the Inquisitor, and not a teenage girl, she slipped her arm through his with a lilting giggle, her mouth set in a wide grin, both of them aware that they looked ridiculous in their afterglow of the previous night. _Ridiculously happy, maybe._

Pausing only to turn in their key to the innkeeper, the pair wandered out onto the streets of Val Foret, the local townsfolk just stirring at this time of the early, quiet dawn. It was a quaint place, tidy cobblestoned streets lined with colorful plastered houses, bowers of perfumed flowers decorating the balconies along the wrought iron and carved stone fences. The place was… peaceful. Comforting. Bright. In a way Kirkwall nor Denerim had ever been.

“Cullen, do you ever wonder about what we’ll do after this is all over?”

Tugging her a bit closer to his side, he glanced around the clean, neat row of buildings, at the rolling farmland just visible outside of the gates, the picturesque thatched cottages that dotted the soft, green meadows. “I hadn’t really given it much thought, until very recently. Would you, that is- where would, um. Maker’s breath. This sounded better in my head,” with a wry quirk of his mouth at her giggle, he set his gaze down at the road before them. “What would you want to do?”

“Mm. A small house in the country I think,” she murmured with a yawn, arching her back like a cat as she rearranged his arm into a pillow. “Maker, I’m still so tired. I guess the past few weeks took a lot more out of me than I thought. I don’t really know what we’d do for a living though. I could work as a healer again. Lochlan will want a dog. Would you want to stay a soldier? Or maybe retire?”

“Me?” His heart warmed at the thought that she would include him in this fantasy daydream.

“Of course you,” she snorted. “I thought you said you were never letting me go again?”

“I did, didn’t I,” beaming down at her, he led her back outside the town walls. “I would think you would have a healthy stipend left from the Inquisition after it's all over, so you wouldn't need to work unless you wanted to. I had thought about opening a clinic to help other templars recover from lyrium. Buy a little plot of land, preferably in Ferelden, maybe outside of one of the more established towns. Would you… possibly be interested in something like that? With me?”

“What’s wrong with Orlais?” she blinked innocently up at him, resisting the urge to laugh at his exasperated huff. “Well, it seems to me if you’re going to be helping templars wean off lyrium, you’re going to need a healer. And it just so happens I know a decent one, who will be completely free after this mess is over.”

“Do you, now?" With an impish smirk, he teased, "Can she follow directions well? Take orders?”

“Are you running a healing clinic or a field mission, Commander,” she laughed. “But I think she could. Given the right… incentive.” He growled as her eyes deliberately crawled down his body, lingering for just a moment longer at the juncture of his thighs, before rising up to smile sweetly at him. “Oh look, they’ve almost broken down the whole camp. Hey guys! Are we almost ready?”

Taking a moment to linger behind to cool his flushed skin, Cullen glowered as Sera shot him a cheeky grin and yelled from across the clearing, “Yeah, no thanks to you! So, how was it? Didja get your fill of peaches last night, Cully Wully?”

“Sera!” Cassandra snapped. “Behave.”

Winking at her elven friend, Aislinn merely shrugged, and sauntered off to help load their gear onto their mounts. “I would hazard a guess he had his fill.” Behind her, Cullen spluttered, his face that had just seconds ago returned to its normal state burning a deep crimson again to all who were gathered's delight. “We’ve got a few days of hard riding ahead of us, so come on and let’s get a move on people!”

Just as she tied the last of her bags to her saddle, Aislinn heard the steady gait of his boots along the trampled grass approaching her. “You are impossible,” he muttered into her hair. 

“I know,” she reached up to pull his face down to hers for a lingering kiss, her lips soft on his. “I love you. Now let’s go ruin Samson’s day.”

*** 

The steady glow of her magic filled the canvas tent, one of the flaps tied back to catch as much of the cool evening breeze as possible. Wringing out another cool cloth, Aislinn laid it gently on Cullen’s fevered skin, trying desperately to bring his temperature back down. She knew it would be a mistake to bring him into the shrine, as she could feel the discordant song of the red lyrium almost a full mile away, grating at her nerves, shocking even Aella into uncharacteristic silence. How much worse had it been for him? And yet he insisted on accompanying her, and she did not have the will or heart to refuse him.

“Should’ve listened to you,” he groaned, echoing her thoughts.

“Hush,” she murmured, sending another pulse of magic into his resistant body. “What’s done is done, love. Now we just need to get you better.”

His breathing was hoarse and shallow, the sound of a winter’s wind rasping through dead pine trees. “I feel as if I’ll never be myself again.”

“It’s only been a few hours. It will take a bit longer to get the worst of it out. Your blood is reacting to the overload of vaporized red lyrium you inhaled.”

“Linn, listen to me. If something happens to me-”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, don’t you dare-”

“Please.” Using the last bit of his strength to take her hand, he cradled it to his chest, shifting his head so he could see her better. “If something happens to me, I want you to be happy. You and Lochlan both. Alistair is still at Skyhold, and he still loves you, just as much as I do.”

“Cullen,” she couldn’t help the tears that were welling her eyes, hovering at the edge of her vision. “He loves me, and I still love him, but it is _nothing_ like the love that you and I have for each other. I lived without him in my life. Without you, I was only existing. I _need_ you, more than I have-” she choked on her words. “More than I have ever needed anyone. So you have to get better, okay? Or I’m going to have Dorian raise you so I can yell at you. I'm sure Sera would want a turn, as well.”

“Maker forbid,” he chuckled, voice faltering on a wheezing exhale. “Alright. Just for you.”

Having stabilized his systems as best she could for now, Aislinn brushed a featherlight kiss against his clammy brow, and replaced the cold compress. “Try and get some rest now, love. It’ll be the best thing for you. I’ll be back in every now and then.”

“Mmkay,” he mumbled, already drifting off. “Love you.”

“I love you too, you stubborn templar.”

“Not… templar…”

Shaking her head even as she smiled, Aislinn ducked back outside and headed over to where a small fire burned, dropping herself into the sand to stretch out her cramped muscles. “Any news from Skyhold?”

Glancing up from where she was oiling her armor, Cassandra shrugged. “The nobles are getting antsy. Gaspard and Cardona in particular. Vael mentioned he would return soon, if you did not.”

“Good. I hope they’re all gone by the time I get back,” Aislinn muttered.

“How’s Curly?” Varric peeked over the top of his spectacles, setting his quill and parchment on his lap.

“Resting,” she answered quietly. “All those fires threw too much red lyrium fumes into the air. Bad enough for us, but for a former templar…”

“It would be a death sentence for anyone else. Besides him,” the Seeker nodded at the Commander’s tent. “He’s survived this far, Aislinn. Have no doubt that he will get better.”

Taking a deep breath, Aislinn nodded, setting her jaw in that stubborn way that made Cullen despair. “He will. He has to.”

“So, what do you plan on doing with your plethora of admiring suitors back in Skyhold?” Dorian called from the other side of the fire, where he sat with his back resting against the Iron Bull’s leg, the Qunari's hand gently stroking his lover's dark hair. So sweet, Aislinn thought.

“She could mount Cully in the middle of the hall,” Sera sniggered. “That’d get the point across.”

“No, the Orlesians would enjoy that far too much,” Aislinn snorted. “I don’t know, I’ll have to think of something ‘proper’, or Josephine will murder me.”

“Ooh! I’ve been working on a new stink grenade and-”

“No, for Maker’s sake, Aislinn, don’t let her anywhere near the keep with one of those. She tested it the other week upwind outside the walls. We all thought we were going to die,” Dorian begged.

“Hey, it’s effective,” the elf grinned without a hint of remorse.

“Maker preserve us.”

“Go get some sleep,” Varric nudged Aislinn’s shoulder. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“You’ve been tired a lot recently, boss,” the Iron Bull added with a frown.

“Of course she has,” Dorian scoffed at his lover. “With everything she’s dealing with, who wouldn’t be exhausted?”

“Thanks guys,” she really did feel like she was about to fall asleep where she stood. “See you in the morning.” _And hopefully by then, Cullen will be better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I ever mentioned, but Aella means stormwind, or whirlwind, depending on the source. In mythology, she was one of the Amazon warriors killed by Hercules.
> 
> Soooo updates. I pinched a nerve in my lower back, and it's causing my sciatic nerve to flare up, so sitting is pretty painful right now. As is almost everything else, but sitting is the worst. I'm picking away at the next few chapters (my buffer is almost gone O_O) so new chapters are probably going to take longer to post than I anticipated. Plus, we're going out of town for 5 days starting Thurs to see family, so there will probably be a longer lull than everyone is used to. I am working on new chapters though! Content is getting a bit trickier the closer I get to the end, and I want to make sure I finish this fic right. Thank you all for sticking with me so far! :*


	44. The Warden King

Aislinn thanked the gods that Cullen’s fever broke shortly before dawn the next day. Despite her urging him to rest another day, her Commander was insistent they needed to return to Skyhold, and so the group saddled up and started the long journey back home, the Inquisitor grumbling about stubborn, fool templars under her breath for the first few days. It would take them three weeks to cross Orlais and the Frostbacks, three more long weeks until she was finally back and reunited with her son.

“Mama!” he shrieked, flying to meet her as soon as her horse passed under the iron gates.

Barely sliding off her horse in time to catch the small blur barreling towards her, Aislinn sunk to the ground as he launched himself into her arms, clutching him tightly against her chest. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured into his hair.

“You left without saying goodbye,” his voice broke in an attempt to hold back his tears.

“I know. I’m so, so sorry Lochlan. I promise it won’t happen again.” God, how could she have done that to him? What kind of mother was she becoming?

“‘S okay,” he sighed. “Alistair let me sleep with him every night while you and Papa were gone.”

“Did he now?” Aislinn glanced up to where the king stood, surprised to see Cullen and Alistair clapping each other on the back, as if they were the best of friends. She knew he had told her they worked out their differences, but still, she hadn’t expected this. “I need to unpack and wash off the road, but how about supper tonight? Me, you, and Papa?”

“Can Alistair come too?” She nodded. “Yes, please,” he chirped, happy once again. Ruffling his hair, she gracefully rose up, and approached the king.

“Alistair,” she smiled softly. “Might I have a moment?”

“Of course,” he bowed. Taking a moment to squeeze Cullen’s hand reassuringly, Aislinn slipped her arm through Alistair’s, and led him off into a secluded corner of the courtyard, next to the stables. “Well, this doesn’t bode well,” he chuckled.

“I know,” she muttered, releasing his arm and casting her eyes towards a bare patch of dirt. “I just… You know I care for you, right?”

“I do. Linn. Look at me.” Pulling her hands towards him, Alistair smiled warmly down at her, not a hint of the apprehension she had expected to be found in his bright, blue eyes. “I love you. And I suspect I always will. But you and Cullen… he loves you. And I’d wager that you love him the same, am I right?” She nodded, her throat choking on a lump that had rapidly formed. How was he taking this so gracefully? “It’s okay,” he murmured gently. “Besides, there’s ah… a young lady here.”

“Oh?” Aislinn drawled out that word, her eyebrow quirking upwards with sudden interest. “And who is this young lady, pray tell?”

He really was adorable when he blushed, she giggled, almost as much so as Cullen. “She’s, well, um. Lady Catalina?”

“Wait. Cordona’s sister?” Aislinn gaped.

“Mmhmm. She’s nothing like her brother, you know. Raised as a commoner by her mother in Ferelden. Did you know her mother was a Cousland?”

Unable to help but smile at his bashful excitement, she leaned against the rough wood of the barn. “As in, Fergus Cousland? As in, Teryn of Highever? As in, she’s the perfect person to be your queen?”

“Well, as far as bloodlines go,” he mused. “I think she’d make a good queen. Not really sure yet. I still think you would have been fantastic at it,” he nudged her arm.

“Hardly,” she snorted. “At the rate I’m going, I would have electrocuted the first noble to piss me off. Or something. By the way,” her voice softened, a remorseful expression clouding her gaze as she remembered the day she left. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you and Cullen. Casting against both of you like that, I’m- I fear I’m losing my grip on reality at times.”

“Linn, it’s understandable. We were acting, well, I won’t say like children, because that would be an insult to Lochlan. Like… goblins? Darkspawn babies?”

“I thought darkspawn popped out fully grown,” she grinned. 

“Yes, well, I’m sure there’s a learning curve,” he laughed, leaning in closer to tenderly kiss her forehead. “Cullen is a lucky man.”

“And Catalina is a lucky woman. Hey. Does she know you’re the king?” Peering up at him, she frowned when he averted his gaze, blushing yet again. “Ali…”

“I’m going to tell her! Soon. Ish. Before I go back to Denerim, at least, which will probably be soon,” he groaned. “I don’t wanna.”

“I’m so sorry you have to go back and be king, Your Majesty,” she snorted. “You better tell her soon. I plan on dashing the hopes of all my suitors,” she rolled her eyes at that, “Very soon. I want them all gone from my home.”

“I’ll tell her tonight then,” he sulked. “I’m just worried. What if she sees me differently?”

Aislinn remembered, how pleased he had been when she treated him as ‘just Alistair’, how much he longed to be seen as the man he was and not just the head the crown rested upon. “How well do you know her?”

“We’ve talked some. Her brother won’t really let her near me, since he thinks I’m just a low-born Grey Warden who was probably conscripted off the gallows,” he chuckled. “Which, he’s not entirely incorrect in his assumption. So we steal whatever time we’re able when he’s preoccupied.”

“That’s so romantic,” Aislinn sighed dreamily. “Well, if she has any sense at all, it won’t make a damn bit of difference to her. You’re an incredible man, Alistair,” she reached up to pat his cheek, her touch lingering for a second longer. “And you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

“As do you, Linn,” he smiled warmly down at her. “Alright. I’m going to go find Cat. But first, to pace anxiously around the keep to try and figure out what the hell I’m going to say.”

With a laugh, she left the king by the barn, muttering under his breath, and headed up to her room. Where a certain Commander was already there, waiting for her.

“Ah,” he blushed as soon as she walked through the door, at the tiny questioning smirk on her full lips. “I was just, um, making sure the staff had your bath ready, and that your pack was delivered safely, and- Maker’s breath, I’m that obvious, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” she agreed, padding softly across her rug. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Aislinn grinned up at his embarrassment. “But it’s adorable. By the way, did you know Alistair fancies Lord Cordona’s sister? And that she’s half Ferelden?”

“Does he now?” Cullen started. “I could see why. She is very pretty. Not more so than you, of course,” he hastily amended to her amusement. “So, that’s it then? It’s just me and you?”

“Silly man,” she pulled his head down, her lips brushing tenderly against his own. “It’s always been me and you. Even when I didn’t realize it.”

Cullen was an exceptionally attractive man; the hordes of admirers he had throughout Thedas, especially Orlais, was a testament to his physical appearance. But nothing, _nothing_ could compare to the way he smiled when he was truly happy and at peace. Such as right now. The way his eyes crinkled and seemed to glow from within. How the creases that lined his brow smoothed, his lips curling softly in a radiant grin. Years of worries and hardship and abuse melted away in the face of his joy, stripping away the Commander and templar, leaving behind just a man who was in love with a woman.

“You’re really here with me,” shaking his head in awe, his voice was barely above a whisper as he cupped her face between both of his warm, calloused hands. 

“Never going anywhere again.”

Of all the ways he kissed her, this was perhaps her favorite. To feel such a powerful man, literally trembling at her touch, tentatively tasting her skin before growling his desire and devouring her whole, hungrily possessing her mouth, hands clutching at her body, desperately pulling her as close as possible. And when he finally released her, his eyes were bright and glazed, his lids heavy with lust and desire, his nostrils flaring as he panted for air. 

“Linn,” he moaned brokenly.

“You know,” she murmured into his cheek. “I’ve always thought my tub was on the larger side and could probably fit two people easily. Shall we test it?”

“Maker’s breath, is that even a legitimate question? _Yes_.”

*** 

It was several hours later when they both descended down into the main hall, sated, at least for the present, and clean. As it turned out, the tub was not large enough for the both of them, but that hadn’t stopped the pair from trying, amid giggles and shrieks and much water spilled across the stone floor. And now, heedless of Lord Cordona’s glares, or the frowns of Prince Vael and Grand Duke Gaspard, the couple descended into the main hall, arm in arm.

“I have some work to take care of, but supper tonight?” Cullen grinned as she nodded, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Will you be okay with the rabble?” 

Glancing around the room, Aislinn realized that all of her suitors were currently staring at them, or scowling, in the case of Cordona. A low groan escaped her. “It’ll be fine, love. I did want them out of here sooner than later, and hey, no better time than right now.”

Gaspard was the first to approach her as Cullen strode away, a small smirk on the Commander's face. “Inquisitor,” the Grand Duke bowed. “I see you have already made your choice.”

“I have,” Aislinn offered him a slight curtsey. “I apologize for not notifying you sooner.” It was hard to tell if the Grand Duke was upset or not, with that ridiculous masks that all the Orlesians wore. A sign of his general mood would be helpful, she mused, so that she could let Josephine know if there would be minor backlash to deal with, or another war.

“It is no matter,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Celene will be disappointed, I think, but I will live. To be quite frank, I’ve enjoyed my time away from court and with your men. You have quite the army, Inquisitor.”

“All thanks to my Commander. Maker knows I’d be hopeless at training them.” Laurent de Ghislain and Sebastian Vael were slightly more subdued in their disappointment, a hint of frustration lurking behind the prince’s handsome facade.

"I cannot say I fault your choice, Inquisitor," Prince Vael pressed a kiss to her hand. "The Commander is a devout, respectable man. He is lucky to have captured your heart."

Unsurprisingly, Lord Cordona was the only one who was truly aggrieved with her decision. “You would choose a dog lord commoner, over me?” he spluttered in disbelief. 

“I would caution you to watch your language in my home, my lord,” Aislinn snapped, past the point of caring about decorum and politics. How dare he insult Cullen, a man who has more honor in his pinky finger than this scum possesses in his entire body. “That dog lord happens to be my Commander, and the man I love.”

“All this time to come to these barbaric lands, time away from my own empire,” he spat. “Wasted, on the likes of you.”

With the sweetest, most innocent smile she could muster, Aislinn coyly lowered her eyes and fluttered her lashes. “I’m terribly sorry for any inconvenience, my lord.” She found it difficult not to giggle as he comically stormed out of the hall, settling for a small grin that only increased as Varric caught her eye, and winked. _Oh no, Alistair. I hope he’s told Catalina by now. I wanted to give him more time. I should go find him._

Despite the snow covering the mountains and the world around them, Skyhold was surprisingly warm, especially today, this late into summer. The gentle, cool breeze was more than a welcome respite from the stifling air, although Alistair couldn’t tell if it was the weather or his own nerves making it hard for him to breathe. Or perhaps it was the overabundance of herbs and flowers that the garden was stocked with.

“Alistair,” Catalina smiled warmly as she gracefully moved towards the corner where he stood, leaning against a pillar of the stone gazebo. Maker, but she was lovely, dressed in a pale, cream silk gown, navy blue flowers embroidered along the hems, her dark curls pinned loosely at the base of her neck. 

“Lady Cat,” he bowed. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“Is something wrong?” His voice and postured were stiff, wholly unlike the usual jovial man she had enjoyed spending her time with for the last several weeks.

“No, no, nothing wrong. Well not, exactly,” he grimaced. “Ah… I have a thing to tell you. And I’m not sure if you’ll be pleased? But-” opening and closing his mouth several times, Alistair slumped against the gazebo and buried his face in his hands, muffled curses slipping through his fingers.

“Alistair,” Catalina nudged his arm. “You can tell me what’s wrong. I won’t be upset.”

“You say that now,” he muttered, wondering if he was truly a middle aged king that they said he was or a bumbling teen. He hadn’t even been this nervous with Aislinn. “Well, here’s the thing. I like you. A lot. And I was wondering if, perhaps, you felt the same way… about me?” _Oh brilliant, Alistair, now you even sound like a green lad. Perhaps I should have just written her a note. Do you like me? Check yes or no._

She froze at his hopeful gaze. It would never work. She knew her brother, and he would never let her marry for love, especially not a commoner, not even if he were one of the mythical Grey Wardens. “Alistair, I-”

“If I were a noble,” he cut her off. “Would you accept my offer to court you?”

“I would, even as you are,” she murmured. “But Rafael, he wouldn’t...”

“Cat,” how was it that his smile melted away her apprehension, just like that? “I, er, lied to you. Not directly, but I left out some rather important things. Um,” blushing furiously, he began to pace in tiny circles, his gaze fixed on the grass he was trampling underfoot. “My name.”

“It’s not Alistair?”

“It is. Alistair Theirin.”

Catalina simply stared at him. “Theirin? As in-”

“King Alistair Theirin, son of Maric, of Ferelden, at your service, my lady,” he flourished an extravagant courtly bow. “I came here to… see some old friends. Aislinn, the Inquisitor, and her son used to live at the palace with me, so I dropped by for a visit, figuring I was overdue for a little escape from the court as well. That’s why I don’t have an entourage with me, or my crown, or… Cat? Say something, please.”

Shaking her head, she threw her hands up in the air. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You could ask Aislinn, or Cullen, Leliana, or Cassandra,” he offered. “Er. Those last two are Sister Nightingale and the Seeker. I traveled with Leliana during the Blight, and actually, I don't really know the Seeker well, but I've spoken with her a few times, and- Have I messed it all up?”

“You’re the Warden King,” she murmured, her eyes wide, heart racing. “And you want to court me?”

“If you’ll let me,” he smiled shyly. Reaching for her hand, he breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief when she didn’t flinch or pull away. “You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman, Cat. I would love to get to know you better. Will you visit me in Denerim? I’m sure your cousin would be thrilled to know he still has family.”

“My cousin?”

“Fergus Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever. He lost his entire family twelve years ago. He’s a good man, smart, and kind. Obviously it runs on your mother’s side,” he grinned, suddenly looking more like the roguish warrior she had begun to fall for. Had she ever realized how blue his eyes really were? “So? Say yes? I’m sure even your brother won’t refuse me, but I’d rather it be your decision.”

“I… yes,” she whispered. Then, a light laugh rang out, louder this time, “Yes! I would like that.”

Pulling her closer to him, he resisted the urge to giggle like a child presented with his favorite treat. A dark curl swung loose of her chignon, bouncing temptingly against the smooth curve of her neck. With a hesitant finger, Alistair gently tucked it back behind her ear, his breaths coming harsher and more shallow with every second that passed, his gaze locked on her brilliant emerald eyes. “Maker, you are... May I kiss you?”

“Please,” she breathed. Her entire body trembled in his arms, her eyes fluttering shut of their own accord as he lowered his head to hers. Catalina had always wondered what it would be like to be kissed. Growing up, her mother, then her brother, always kept her shielded and protected from male attention. Not that she particularly minded; the way the servants and nobles talked, she was sure it would be messy and wet, and she could never understand why people would want to do perform an act that sounded so unappealing. Until now.

Alistair’s lips were dry and warm, his body firm and solid under her fingers. Softly, he teased her mouth open, seemingly intent on tasting every part of her lips and tongue, igniting a burning fire in her core and an unfamiliar ache between her legs that left her gasping and praying for something more. A needy high-pitched moan escaped her throat, forcing a blush to her face, but instead of laughing at her, as she was sure he would, Alistair answered her with a low growl that rumbled through his broad chest, his hands gripping her waist even tighter. “The things you make me feel,” he muttered.

“Catalina! What in the Void are you doing?!” Abruptly, her world spun, fading from pleasant warmth to a sharp, stinging pain in her shoulder as she was yanked backwards. “Kissing, this- this _peasant_? A Ferelden, of all things? You may as well have slept with the dogs!”

“We haven’t slept together, Rafael,” Catalina snapped. “And he isn’t a-”

“I can’t believe you, my own sister. First, the Inquisitor chooses a commoner over me? And then this?” Cordona seethed with fury, practically frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. “Get your things, now. We are leaving to return to Antiva this evening.”

“Actually,” Alistair drawled with a smirk on his face. “I had hoped Lady Catalina would return with me to Denerim. She has graciously accepted my request to court her.”

“Rafael, may I present King Alistair Theirin, of Ferelden?” she smiled at her near apoplectic brother.

“King- Oh, Catalina,” Cordona laughed. “You poor, gullible child. He actually convinced you he was the king of Ferelden? Look at him, my dear. He’s nothing more than a sell sword, trying to have his way with you. Now come along, and-”

“No,” she wrenched her arm free of his bruising grip. “I’m going with Alistair back to Denerim.”

“Selfish brat,” he hissed. “After everything I’ve done for you? You’d throw it all away on that? A poor, simple soldier?”

“Better to be with a poor, simple soldier who sees me for who I am rather than be strung along as a trophy,” she shot back. “I am not returning to Antiva with you, Rafael.”

“Fine,” he shouted. “I strip you of any relation to me, then. You will have no money from me, nor any help when he abandons you and the babe he’ll force upon you. You are nothing to me. Stupid, cheap, half-bred Ferelden whore-”

“Hey!” Alistair snarled, pulling Catalina behind him. “Apologize to her, this instant.”

“Like I’d ever take an order from the likes of you,” Cordona scoffed. “Have her, if you will. It’s no longer a concern of mine.”

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Aislinn strode up to the men, popping out from behind a nearby shrub where Alistair just knew she had been eavesdropping these last few minutes. “Lord Cordona,” she nodded. “Your Majesty,” curtsying to Alistair, the Inquisitor smiled brilliantly up at the king. “Is there a problem, sire?”

“No, no problem,” Maker, was it hard not to burst into hysterical laughter at the Antivan’s ashen face. “In fact, just the opposite. Lady Catalina has agreed to come with me to Denerim.”

“Oh? That is wonderful,” Aislinn gasped. “Fergus will be overjoyed to meet you, my lady. He’s such a nice man. He’s due back in court soon, isn’t he?”

“That he is,” Alistair agreed. “The nobles will all be swooping down on my palace soon enough for the annual season. I would love it if you and the Commander came to at least the Satinalia ball, providing your schedule allows.”

“I’d be honored, Your Majesty,” Aislinn’s eyes sparkled with delight, sharing a wink with Catalina as she turned back to Cordona. “My lord, if there’s anything else you need…”

“Ah, no. Catalina, my dear,” he plastered a smile that was more akin to a grimace across his face. “You’ll need some things for the trip to Denerim. I’ll have a few trunks sent for you, or I can bring them myself when I visit-”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” Alistair interrupted. “Wasn’t it just a few minutes ago you disinherited your sister? What makes you think you’d possibly be welcomed in my home?”

“I, er, now. Let’s not be hasty,” he started. “Things are often spoke in the heat of the moment, and-”

“No, I heard it too,” Aislinn crossed her arms. “As did the rest of the good people in the gardens who had the misfortune to overhear your tantrum.”

“I- You-” Words failed the man. Spinning on his heel, Cordona marched himself out of sight, hissing obscenities under his breath the whole way.

“Be careful, Linn,” Alistair sighed. “He doesn’t look the type to take defeat gracefully.”

“Your Worship,” Catalina lowered herself in a curtsy. “It’s true. He will probably send assassins for you.”

“He can try,” Aislinn shrugged, with a wide yawn. “I’m apparently rather hard to kill, though, you know, mage and Herald and all. Maker, I’m tired. But this worked out rather well, don’t you think? The rest of my suitors are finally leaving. Cordona is leaving angrily. You two are are sickeningly adorable,” she motioned to the pair, who were at that moment gazing into each other’s eyes. “I couldn’t have hoped for a better day. You’re not leaving anytime soon, are you?”

“I have to leave at some point, or Eamon will have my head,” he chuckled. “But I can put it off for a few days more.”

“Good,” she yawned again. “Lochlan will be pleased. You two need anything else, let me know. Later, that is. I’m going to go take a nap.”

Waving goodbye to the besotted couple, Aislinn wearily trudged up the stairs to her room, pausing a few times on the climb to catch her breath. _God, why am I so tired? Bone dead exhausted. I suppose I have been traveling and on the go a lot these past few weeks, but still. The last time I was this fatigued was-_

Was when she was pregnant with Lochlan.

Stumbling through the door, frantically counting in her head, she tried to remember when her last cycle was. _It ended the day we got to the Storm Coast, when I went with the Iron Bull for that Qun mission._ That meant, that first night back with Cullen….

Oh, God. She hadn’t taken witherstalk the next morning, like she had planned; the chaos with her noble suitors' appearance had distracted her and it had completely slipped her mind. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck, I can’t be, not right now!_

Slipping onto her sofa, Aislinn steadied her hands over her midsection, easily recalling the spell she had used so long ago that day in the Gallows. Staring blankly as the golden glow washed over her, her magic seeped into her body, tingling through her skin.

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so I leave you all with this cliffhanger. :) This chapter was fun to write. SUCK IT CORDONA. And y'all can blame @gowombat83 for Aislinn being pregnant because I wasn't going to, then they said that, and I was like OOOH MORE ANGST. Soooo :)


	45. Confessions

“Is that all you’ve got, Commander?”

“All I’ve got? You’re the one breathing hard.”

“Just sweaty from the heat of today. You didn’t think this was because of you, did you?”

Cullen’s grin was almost feral as he studied the king across the training ring. Unlike most of the other nobility, Alistair had kept up with his warrior’s skills, refusing to let his crown reduce him to the weak, doughy composition that was common among those of his rank. Trained by templars, honed by the Grey Wardens- it showed in every thrust and parry, and Cullen reveled in the challenge.

Trying to remain calm and neutral, Catalina leaned against the cool stone wall of the nearby tavern, hiding her flushed skin in the shade as she watched the men spar. Without shirts. Wearing only thin leather breeches that clung to their taut thighs, the muscles across their backs and arms rippling with every move. Alistair reminded her of the knights she used to follow around as a child, whenever she and her mother ventured into the Gwaren proper. He was kind, generous, humble, funny, and the Void taken king- and he wanted to court _her_. Mother would have been beside herself.

It was rather inspiring to watch the two men spar, each of their movements overflowing with control and sheer power. And judging by the size of the crowd that had gathered around the dirt ring, she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Enjoying the view?”

A slender hand flew to her throat as Catalina jumped at the sound of the voice. “Inquisitor! I was, I mean, I wasn’t staring. Not at the Commander, I promise, I was just-”

Aislinn chuckled, leaning on the wall next to her. “Don’t fret. They are both rather magnificent, aren’t they?”

Relaxing by a hair, Catalina nodded. “They are both well trained.”

“And gorgeous.” Both of the women giggled.

“You’re not at all how the stories paint you, you know,” the lady smiled.

“Oh? Do the bards say I’m ten feet tall, drop dead gorgeous, and spew lightning from my eyes? Because that would be amazing,” Aislinn laughed. “I’m just a person, trying to do the best I can. That’s all.”

“His Majesty speaks highly of you,” Catalina noted.

“Alistair,” the mage stared as the king twisted out of Cullen’s reach, wincing slightly as he brought his shield down onto the Commander’s back. “He’s going to feel that tomorrow. You know, I’m glad he found you. Alistair, that is,” Aislinn glanced back. “He’s a good man, and deserves to be happy.”

“Forgive me if I’m being blunt, Inquisitor-”

“Aislinn, please.”

“A-Aislinn. Were you and the king…?”

A wistful smile tugged at Aislinn’s mouth. “Once. Before all this mess happened. And not for very long.”

“You still care for him,” the words slipped out before Catalina could stop them. Was Alistair settling for her then? Since the Inquisitor was in love with someone else?

As if she read her mind, Aislinn shook her head. “I love Cullen, with everything I am. And I will always have a place in my heart for Alistair. But don’t think that what he feels for you is anything less than what he says it is. He is the type of man that would have remained single than to tie himself to someone he did not truly want in his life. In fact, that’s why he’s still single,” she chuckled, “Despite his advisors begging him to choose a bride for over a decade.”

“He’s a lot older than I,” Catalina murmured. “But that isn’t so uncommon, I suppose, in noble marriages.”

“Don’t let his age fool you. He’s still a child at heart,” Aislinn snorted with impish glee.

“I feel like you ladies are talking about us,” Sauntering over to the women, Cullen appraised them both with caution, his hair dripping with water and sweat, Alistair just a few paces behind him.

“All scandalous things,” Aislinn agreed. “Such as how you both snore when you sleep. Maker, look at you. It seems as if you were just mauled by a bear.”

“I won,” Cullen shrugged.

“You most certainly did not,” Alistair objected in his most regal voice. “I believe I won that round.”

“His Majesty received a few too many blows to the head, I fear, and his skills of deduction are a bit skewed.”

“Don’t worry, we were both suitably impressed by your glistening muscles and glorious skill,” Aislinn deadpanned, Catalina trying to muffle her giggles behind the other woman.

“Inquisitor! Commander!” Groaning, Aislinn and Cullen turned toward the messenger. “You’re both needed immediately in the war room.”

“Right,” she sighed. “On our way. Go ahead and rinse off best you can, love, I’ll meet you there.”

“I believe Leliana times her messages to when they’re most inconvenient sometimes,” he muttered.

“That does sound like her,” Alistair laughed. “See you both at supper?”

“Tavern,” Aislinn called over her shoulder. “Lochlan’s orders.”

***

“Do you think this is it?” Pacing the length of Cullen’s office, Aislinn stared at her feet as she turned to make yet another turn about the room.

“With any luck, this will be where we stop him. Maker’s breath, could it be anywhere worse? The Arbor Wilds,” shaking his head, the hair still damp from earlier, Cullen traced a line over the map spread before him. “There’s so little we know about the area. Linn, I was thinking…”

“You do that a lot, yes.”

“About Lochlan. We don’t know how long we’ll be gone from Skyhold this time. And he was rather down when we were gone for so long to Adamant, even more so since everyone he’s close to came with us.”

“And?” She raised an eyebrow at his hesitance.

“And… What if he went back to Denerim with Alistair? Just until we returned,” Cullen replied slowly.

“That is-” Aislinn snapped her mouth shut, swallowing the retort that stuck in her throat. “You’re right,” she sighed. “He would be happier there than in an empty fortress, waiting for God knows how long. We can ask Alistair tonight, although he’ll probably say yes. It's just... so far away though,” she muttered, rubbing her tired eyes.

Circling his desk, Cullen pulled on her arm, dragging her to stand between his legs as he leaned against the wooden surface. “When you say God,” he murmured. “Do you mean the Maker? Or another god?”

Shit. Usually, she was pretty adept at watching her usage of Thedosian terms, but she knew, when she was distressed or exhausted, it sometimes slipped out. _Or drunk, like that one night I was ranting about the Spanish flu._ “I… the Maker?”

He sighed, and released her. “If you don’t trust me-”

“That’s not it, I do trust you,” she shook her head, moving closer in so she could bury her face in his mantle. “It’s just… I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

“Try me.”

Abruptly, she stood up and turned away, walking towards the narrow window slit set at the back of his room, and fixed her gaze out over the distant mountain peaks. “That day you found me on the Storm Coast. Do you remember the clothes I was in?”

Cullen furrowed his brow at the odd question. “It was different, that I remember.”

“Different as in you had never seen anything like it before, right?”

“Well, I- yes.”

Scraping at a piece of loose mortar with her fingernail, Aislinn continued in a low voice, “That day was the first day I was in Thedas. The place I’m from, it’s an entire other world. Called Earth. I lived in a state called Florida, in a country called America. There was no such thing as magic, or dragons, or Andraste, or any other race besides humans. There was a bright green light one night as I finished work, I passed out, and then when I woke up, I was here.”

“So,” Cullen moved behind her, his words cautious and measured, “Your amnesia was fake?”

“No, it was real,” she sighed. “I knew from the start I wasn’t from Thedas, because there were two moons here and only one where I’m from, but didn’t remember the exact details until the night Haven fell.”

Dazed and confused, he shook his head in a slow arc. “But Aella, she was from Tevinter. So how can you be her, but not from here?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe our worlds are linked? Or, my pet theory is that I was born here, but someone took me away as a child. I was an orphan growing up, no family at all. I might be Thedosian. No way of really knowing. Are you mad at me for not telling you?”

“Mad?” He sounded startled, as if he couldn’t fathom why she would consider such a thing. “No, I- Look at me, please.” Shifting her body, Aislinn slowly turned until she was peering up at his worn, handsome face. “I’m not mad,” he repeated softly. “Frustrated, that you didn’t tell me before, but I suppose it doesn’t really change anything. I understand why you kept it to yourself though.”

Blinking up at him, Aislinn cocked her head to one side, her loose black waves covering one shoulder. “You believe me?”

Raising an eyebrow, Cullen stared back at her. “Do you have a reason to lie?”

“No. It’s the truth, all of it.”

“I believe you then. You’ve never lied to me before, I hardly think you’d make up something this absurd and far-fetched anyhow. Come here.” With a muffled squeak, Aislinn felt herself be pulled into his chest, a wheezed “oof” escaping her as she collided with his breastplate. “I love you, no matter where you’re from, or who your parents are, or what world you grew up in. Nothing will ever change that.”

“I love you, too,” she smiled. “Um. There’s something else.”

“Mm?”

“I, um…”

Realizing she was now shaking, Cullen felt his heart skip a few beats, his mouth suddenly drier than the Western Approach. “Linn? What’s wrong, love?”

 _Why am I crying? This is stupid. I shouldn’t be crying. Damned hormones_. “I-” her voice broke again. “I’m sorry. I'm so scared, Cullen.”

“Linn, you’re frightening me, sweetling. It’s okay, whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” he soothed, gently stroking her hair as he tried to keep his own fear at bay. “I promise, we’ll deal with it together.”

 _Yeah, we will_. “I’m pregnant.”

His hand froze against her head. “You’re- what?” his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, praying he heard her wrong. Or right. It was too soon to tell.

“Pregnant. With a baby. Your baby, obviously. Maybe two months along? I’m not sure, it’s not an exact science and-” She snapped her mouth shut, suddenly aware that she was beginning to ramble. “I’m sorry, I never expected this to happen. I was going to take the herbs the morning after, but then Blackwall ran off, and Lochlan was upset, and I forgot and this is all my fault and-”

“I rather think I had a bit to do with it as well,” he huffed quietly. “You’re pregnant. With our baby. Maker’s breath, Linn.” Laughing breathlessly, he squeezed her tighter. “Lochlan will be thrilled.”

“Y-you’re not upset?”

“Upset?” He grinned with bright eyes down at her. “Why in the world would I be upset?”

“You treated me so gently last time,” she shrugged. “I figured the idea of me fighting, especially with the Arbor Wilds coming up, would distress you.”

Shit. How had he forgotten? She was still the Inquisitor, still needed to go out and close rifts and fight demons, and red templars, and Venatori, and bandits, and bears, and now she was carrying his child? _No no no no no-_

Aislinn’s eyes widened as it dawned on her that the implications of her pregnancy were just now hitting him. “Cullen, hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll be fine, I promise. You know I’m always careful, and I have the best team in the world with me.”

“You’re pregnant,” he snapped bitterly, desperately struggling to hold back the tears he knew were fighting to break free. “And I have to let you go out there, while I’m stuck here, and Maker-” Laying his head alongside hers, he quietly sobbed into her hair, clutching onto her as if he were terrified she’d fall apart before his eyes, his large bulk shaking in her arms.

“I’ll be okay,” she hiccuped into the soft fur of his mantle. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came the muffled retort. “If I ever lost you… I can’t. I can’t, Linn, I already lost you once. I cannot do it again.”

“The risk are the same as they were an hour ago, Cullen,” reaching her hands up, she curled her fingers into his golden locks. 

“Yes, but…”

“I know,” she whispered into the underside of his jaw, rubbing her skin against his stubble. “I know.”

He wanted to keep her next to him forever. With a sudden pang, he longed for the days when the most he had to worry about was the thugs of Lowtown accosting her when she went to work with Anders in his clinic. Now? He had to worry about the entire world coming after her. Pregnancies were so uncertain as they were, tiny little flickering lives whose futures laid entirely in the Maker’s hands. Yet, he had to let her go, because if he didn’t, the whole world would suffer for his selfishness. To save the world, he had to let her risk their lives. He had to watch his entire world walk straight into danger.

“The others will be waiting on us.” Jerkily nodding, he fumbled around in his pocket until his hands closed over a handkerchief. Scrubbing his face, then tenderly patting hers dry, Cullen wrapped his fingers around her hand, refusing to let go for the rest of the night. 

_Don’t ever make me have to let go. Maker, Andraste, I swear, I will do whatever you ask of me. Just keep her safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but back from our trip! The truth finally comes out about Aislinn's origins, and I'm proud of Cullen for handling it well. *pats him on back*


	46. Quiet Plans

“Of course, I’d take him with me,” Alistair muttered softly enough so that Lochlan wouldn’t be able to overhear. “Is Cullen alright with this?”

“He was the one who suggested it,” Aislinn smiled wistfully at her son, who was currently preoccupied with meticulously drawing a picture for Catalina, already winning over the lady with his boyish charm. The atmosphere of the tavern was more jovial tonight, a large majority of the residents of Skyhold celebrating the departure of the nobility earlier that afternoon. Laughter and conversation drifted through the building, only slightly muffled up on the second floor where the five relaxed at their table, now strewn with the remnants of supper. “Everyone will be going with us. Last time that happened, he was so lonely. And at least, this way, if something happens to us… Cullen’s family lives in South Reach. Mia is his older sister. If we- will you-” She couldn’t even finish that thought, the words swelling and sticking inside of her throat.

“I will make sure he gets there,” the king replied gently. “You have my word. And if they can’t or won’t take him, might I offer myself as a substitute?”

Managing a small nod, she whispered, “He would like that.”

Catalina’s excited gasp of delight jerked Aislinn’s attention back to the end of the table, her lips twitching up in amusement as Lochlan proudly presented her with a rather detailed drawing of Mimo wearing an oversized pale yellow ribbon around her neck. Leaning over the lady, Alistair proclaimed it the be the best picture he had ever seen, “Certainly better than those velvet Cailans laying about.”

“Are you alright, love?” Draping an arm around Aislinn’s shoulder, Cullen drew her closer to his side.

“I will be. I just want all this to be over with,” plucking at the plain embroidery on the hem of his tunic, she leaned her head against his shoulder, one hand draped across her lower belly. 

“Say, what will you do once your job as Inquisitor is done?” Alistair turned back to the couple.

Cullen glanced down at Aislinn, then back up at the king. “Move into the country. But exactly where, we haven’t really discussed that far into the future. My family is in South Reach, so perhaps somewhere closer to them?”

“That would be nice,” Aislinn smiled. 

“There will always be a place for you in Denerim,” the king grinned at them both. “I always have a place in my guard for another knight, especially one as talented as you.”

“A-a knight?” Cullen stammered, staring at the other man with eyes wide as the saucer under Aislinn's teacup. “Me?”

“Papa, are you going to be a knight?” Lochlan popped his head up from his parchment. “Are we going to go back to Denerim?”

“Perhaps,” his mother reached over to ruffle his curls. “How would you like to go to Denerim when Alistair leaves? Stay with him for a few weeks? Your papa and I will be gone for some time, as will Uncle Varric and the others. I know how empty Skyhold was the last time we all left like that.”

“Can I really?” Bouncing in his chair, Lochlan’s bright eyes swung from his parents to the king, and back again. “Can Mimolette come too?”

Alistair tried to hide his grimace. “If you can promise me you’ll keep a close eye on her and that she’ll stay in your room the entire time, and Maker, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I promise! I totally promise!”

“It’s your castle,” Cullen laughed. “I hope the nobility are fond of foxes nesting in their laundry.”

"She has a preference for Nevarran silk," Aislinn mock scowled at her son, who giggled sheepishly.

“She is a rather sweet thing, though,” Catalina interjected, soothing Alistair with one small hand on his arm. “Docile, for a wild animal.”

“I’ve been training her,” the boy proudly informed the adults. “She follows me and sits now when I tell her to. Krem made me a leash and harness for her too!”

“Are you sure about this, Alistair?” With a wry smile, the Inquisitor glanced back over at him.

“Sure, I’m sure, sort of,” he chuckled. “How bad could it be?”

Shaking his head, Cullen let out a low groan, rubbing one temple with his free hand. “Maker’s breath, don’t say that. Now you’re just asking for it.”

***

The hearth glowed with the faint light of embers, just enough to illuminate the darkness and not give off too much heat, as the nights were still fairly warm at this end of the summer. Moonlight streamed in through the open balcony doors, a soft breeze draping over her skin, carrying just a hint of the autumn that would soon come, along with the dreaded heavy snowfall that the Frostbacks were known for. Hearing the ladder creak from behind, Aislinn scooted over on the sofa to make room, smiling up at Cullen as he settled his weight next to her.

“Loch’s all tucked in,” he yawned. “Although I don’t think he’s quite asleep yet.”

“Nope!”

Giggling, Aislinn shifted on the cushions so that her legs were draped across his legs, her back resting against the side of the couch. “Are you staying tonight?”

“In your room?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Only if you want to,” she shrugged. “I know how fond you are of that hole in your roof.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage without,” he laughed. Oh, how she loved it when he laughed like this. Open, warm, relaxed. The way the lines around his eyes softened, the scar above his full lips tugging upwards in a smirk as he dug into the pocket of his breeches. “By the way, I have something I’ve been keeping for you.”

“My brooch,” she reached for the silvery hammered metal. “I was wondering whether you’d ever give it back.”

“I was going to, several times, but…” he smiled sheepishly up at her. “I was worried, that if this thing between you and I did not work out, I would have nothing tangible to remind me of what we used to have. So I kept it. Forgive me?”

“Cullen.” Her hand traced the edge of his stubbled jawline, grazing upwards until she was cupping his cheek against her palm. “You can still keep it, if you’d like.”

“No, I had it made for you. Also-” Pulling a worn pewter gray coin from his pocket, Cullen stared at it for several moments, as if he were committing the faded lines and grooves to memory. “Branson gave it to me the day I left for templar training, said it was for luck. We weren’t supposed to carry such things, but… I should have died at Kinloch. Or in Kirkwall. Or after the Conclave. Or from my withdrawals. But somehow, I’m still here. I can’t help but wonder if the coin...,” he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. “Humor me,” turning towards her, he pulled her hand into his lap and pressed the coin against her palm. “We’re going into war, and you, and the babe, I-” Cullen choked on the rest of his words. “Maybe it will bring you the same luck it brought me.”

“Cullen, I can’t,” she tried to open her hand again, but his larger and stronger fingers kept her first closed. “What will you have, then?”

“Faith,” he whispered into her hair. “Hope. Ah, I also have another small token that I’ve kept with me. Perhaps even luckier than the coin.”

“What is it?” Intrigued by his sudden blush, Aislinn pulled back and waited patiently as he fumbled in his pocket.

“You’re going to think me a sentimental fool,” he mumbled as his fingers closed around whatever it was.

“I solemnly swear to keep the giggling to a strict minimum,” she teased, laying her hand over her heart.

“I highly doubt that,” snorting, he pulled out a small, carved piece of wood and held it out to her.

“That’s-” Words abandoned her. Barely aware that tears were suddenly trailing down her cheeks, Aislinn tentatively stroked the flowing robes of the queen, her lips trembling as she ran a thumb over the worn smiley face, engraved where a face should have been. “You’ve been carrying this? For how long?”

“Since Kirkwall,” his voice was low and cautious, as if she were some wild, skittish animal that he was afraid of spooking. “It was always on my person since the day after I found out you had left the city. In some odd way, I hoped it would lead me back to you. And it did.”

“Cullen,” a strangled sob ripped from her throat as she threw herself into his lap, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of oakmoss and elderflower enveloped her hazy mind, drowning her in him- his arms, firm and tight around her body, his hair, soft and golden in her hands, his cheek, coarse and stubbled against her head. And the beat of his heart, hammering right alongside hers, the roar of their pulse shutting everything else in the world out. “I love you. So, so much.”

For the span of another two heartbeats, the muscles in his arm constricted her frame ever more, before relaxing by the barest hint. “Marry me.”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?” he chuckled breathlessly.

“Just like that.”

Brushing his lips along the contours of her face, Cullen tried to steady himself, find a way to regain his composure. Then, he looked into her eyes. And he was lost.

Aislinn gasped as his mouth crashed up onto hers, a low groan rumbling through his chest as she met his passion, their tongues dancing over the other with a familiarity born of the years together. The time spent apart was a distant memory right now, only the hope for a future fueling their lust. A future as a family, finally, after everything they had been through. How much had they both changed since Kirkwall? Since they first fell in love? And yet, somehow, they were here, reunited again. In that moment, both swore to themselves to never let each other go again. For better or for worse.

“Cullen, I…”

“Come to bed.”

Enthralled by his presence and the soft command in his voice, Aislinn willingly let herself be led to the massive four poster in the shadowed corner of the room. “Cullen, Lochlan is up there.”

“Think he's asleep now. I suppose you’ll just have to be quiet then, hmm?” His grin was positively wicked, nimble fingers making quick work of her robe and thin shift, until she was bare to his hungry gaze. Yanking the covers up over them both, he quickly slid out of his own clothes, grunting in pleasure as his bare skin slid against hers.

She giggled as his stubbled grazed over her still taut belly, smiling as she watch him nuzzle the soft skin that would soon swell with their child. For a moment, he seemed content to simply lay his cheek against her, his eyes closed and warring between contentment and a small frown that was slowly creeping in. “Hey,” she gave his hair a sharp tug. “None of that right now.”

“Sorry,” he sighed, crawling back up her body. “I just-”

“I know what you were thinking,” whispering, Aislinn held him close, smirking to herself as she rubbed her thighs over his hardening length. “But that’s for later. For now…” One slender hand gripped him firmly, drawing a sharp inhale from his flared nostrils. “You should do something about this.”

“Oh I should, should I?” Hands firmly planted in the mattress on either side of her head, his bulk suddenly moving up and over to cover her body. “Look at me. I want to see your face.” It took a serious effort to tear her gaze away from his throbbing cock, already beading with his arousal, but as soon as she locked eyes with his deep amber, it was the easiest thing in the world to let herself drown in his golden warmth.

“Cullen,” she breathed.

“I love you.” Biting his lip to keep himself from groaning aloud, he slid inside her wet heat in one stroke, shuddering as her eyelids fluttered closed from the sweet burn of her body stretching around him. “Look at me,” he growled, smugly watching in satisfaction as she immediately wrenched her eyes back open. “Not a sound, Linn.”

This was a special kind of torture, the pair of them struggling to remain quiet, his thrusts steady and measured, keeping them hovering on the edge of pleasure when all they both wanted was for him to fuck her, pound her into submission until she screamed her throat raw. His wife. She was going to be his wife. The thought kept running in circles through his mind as he took his time with her, his lips finding every sensitive spot along her neck, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the pebbled peak of her nipples. Sucking, licking, biting, devouring until the faintest whimper escaped her.

“Please.” Her eyes widened in shock as he withdrew from her. “What-”

“Hush,” he muttered, rolling her onto her side. Fitting her back to his chest, he hooked her leg over one tense arm and easily slid back in from behind, breathing a sigh of pained relief as her walls clenched tightly, trying to keep him there, welcoming him back inside. “Maker,” he hissed into her ear. “You feel-”

“So full,” she gasped. Her arms rose to reach behind her, linking behind his neck to tug him closer.

Settling her leg behind him, Cullen freed his hand to feel where they were joined, smirking at the sudden tension that radiated through her body as he teased around her pearl, his fingers now slick with her arousal. “Just think. I can do this to you, every night for the rest of our lives. Find every possible way to make you fall apart, utterly destroy you, until the only word you’re capable of saying is my name. Your husband’s name.”

“Aislinn Rutherford,” her words escaped on an strained exhale. “Sounds nice, don’t you think?”

Ignoring the practically overwhelming animalistic urge to pin her down against the sheets and fuck her until she begged for release, he settled for growling, using his other hand to put the slightest pressure against her throat. Squeezing as she arched into his caress, a dark grin marked his features. “Mrs. Rutherford. Dripping with my seed, while my child swells in your belly yet again. I remember how you looked with our son, so heavy, so plump and ripe-”

“Am I a person or a pear?”

Cullen chuckled, both at her words and the startled moan that escaped her as he pinched her swollen clit. “Both,” he replied, nibbling at her velvety earlobe. “I could definitely eat you until my chin was soaked in your juices. Now come for me.”

Fingers moving over her in tight, practiced circles, Aislinn’s nails dug into his forearms, hard enough to leave the red imprints of her nails embedded in the skin. Her teeth bit down into her lip with enough force to draw blood, the coppery tang spreading over her tongue as he pushed her, further, higher, until the world around her exploded into nothingness. Everything fading, her body floating weightlessly as stars danced before her eyes, only his hot, pulsing cock anchoring her to reality and his hands, firm against her, holding her, grounding her.

Shuddering as her muscles clamped down around her, he buried his face in her hair, biting her shoulder to muffled his own noises as he found his release, pumping her full of his creamy spend.

Neither moved for several minutes, both panting as quietly as they could manage, waiting for the world to turn itself upright once more. “We should put on clothes, in case Lochlan tries to sneak into bed with us,” Aislinn yawned.

“Don’t want to,” he pouted. “Just a minute longer.” Wrapping both of his arms around her, he sighed contentedly as she snuggled back into his body. At least here, she was safe with him. At least here, he could try to protect her. “Oh Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights.”

Aislinn squeezed her eyes shut as he began to softly pray in the barest whisper, feeling a few tears slip loose and drip down in the sheets under her head. Tightening her grip on his arms, she sent up her own prayer to whoever might be listening. _Let me come back. For his sake, let me live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, sooo have some smut! And more fluff.


	47. Desire

It was like being back in Florida, she swore. The stinging bugs, the stifling humidity, the bright, verdant greenery. Except here, the sounds of tourists and cars had been replaced by the clang of swords clashing and screams of dying, wounded men that was more akin to Thedas.

Ensuring her daggers were safely secured into her belt and boots, Aislinn turned to her companions, one hand curling around the smooth obsidian staff she carried. “I’m going to go ahead and preemptively apologize for anything I might say or do.”

“We understand, Inquisitor,” Solas replied. Behind him, Blackwall thumped his fist over his heart, the Iron Bull reaching out to pat her on the head, ignoring the roll of her eyes.

“We got your back, no matter what, boss.”

“Alright,” Aislinn took a deep breath. “Our forces should have cleared the way to the temple ruins, so let’s go and ruin Corypheus’ plans, shall we?”

The path her army had cut through the dense jungle was mostly open, a few remaining pockets of red templars and Venatori still lurking as her troops fought valiantly. Doing her best to only heal, keeping her promise to Cullen as best she could and only channeling her lightning as a last resort, the Inquisitor was mostly able to retain her own sense of self by the time they finally reached the ruins of Mythal’s temple, hidden far into the heart of the Wilds.

_Look at them. Playing at being warriors, how quaint._

Blocking out the incessant harpy in her head, Aislinn studied the scene below where she and the others crouched behind the stone balustrade. Samson, Grey Wardens, the few who were still enthralled to Corypheus, Venatori, and a few red templars waited behind their twisted, inhuman master, who stepped forward to confront the… elves? But not elves like she had ever seen before. These men wore strange, flexible plated armor, almost like scales, and were much taller, almost like-

Solas. Glancing to her right, Aislinn was unable to decipher the inscrutable expression on the mage’s face. Whatever the man was thinking, he did not let show.

_He truly is a horrid vision to look upon now. For shame, Sethius. Not that he was ever really handsome, mind you. But still, it was a damn sight better than that. What is that magic?_

A bright light blinded them all, the smell of putrid, rotting flesh burning through their nostrils as the temple’s defenses were activated, melting through the layers of the monster that once was Corypheus.

“That was… it? He’s dead?” Blackwall muttered.

“Lady Morrigan, do you know what he was talking about?” Aislinn turned to the arcane advisor that had accompanied them from Halamshiral months before. One of Alistair’s old traveling companions from the Blight she remembered, although he spent most of his time in Skyhold hiding from the woman instead of reminiscing with her.

“I am afraid not, Inquisitor,” the raven haired mage replied, frowning at the grisly tableau that greeted them as they descended to the remains of the Elder One. Just across the bridge that spanned the vast chasm below, the group watched as Samson offered them a mock salute, before disappearing through the massive doors.

“He’s not worried,” the Iron Bull mused. “But-”

A dark gurgling sound accompanied by the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bones rose from the barely conscious form of a Grey Warden that lay just off to the side, the body jerking like a marionette on a string pulled by a child.

_Oh, what a clever lad you’ve become, brother._

“Shit,” Aislinn breathed at the sight of a familiar clawed, desiccated arm pulling free of the human’s skin. “Run. _Now_.”

Turning, she shoved Blackwall in front of her, practically throwing Morrigan onto the bridge, everyone sprinting over the ancient stone in hopes of reaching the temple before Corypheus could.

“DRAGON!”

“PRIORITIES, BULL!”

Her feet had barely passed the threshold before the others slammed the doors shut, crumbling mortar shifting loose and raining down upon their heads as the vibration resounded through the chamber, the temple sealing the entrance with a warm, golden glow as the dragon roared in furious rage outside the stone walls. Gasping for breath, Aislinn sunk to the ground, one hand splayed on the dusty floor, the other braced against her knee.

“The fuck- was that?” She managed after a few seconds.

“It would appear Corypheus has the same ability as an archdemon. He is able to transfer his essence to any other creature tainted with the Blight,” Morrigan answered, her eerie cat-like yellow eyes staring down at Aislinn.

_I do not like her._

_You just don’t like her because she’s a lot like you._

_And what does that mean?_

_Power. It’s all either of you understand._

_Do not compare me to some hedge witch._

_Po-ta-toe, po-tah-toe._

“Well, that’s lovely,” Aislinn grimaced. “Samson headed further in, right?”

“I hear fighting up ahead,” Solas motioned for the others to follow him, the elf already moving deeper into the sanctum.

“There’s powerful magic still here,” Aella reeled in disgust from the ancient Elvhen spells that flitted through the stone as they passed to Aislinn’s amusement.

_Too strong for you, dear?_

_Too primal, too barbaric_ , the voice dripped with disdain, in an attempt to hide her fear, interlaced with the barest hint of awe.

_Right. Admit it. You’re impressed._

_I will do nothing of the sort._

“Boss?”

Patting the Iron Bull on his arm, she took a step forward. “We need to hurry, stop Samson before he gets to that Well, whatever it is.”

“Aella?”

“She’s nervous,” giggling, Aislinn ignored the voice’s squawk of indignation and protests. “Unnerved would be a better descriptor. Come on, let’s move.”

***

_The elves who guard this place are different._

_No shit, Sherlock._

_Who is Sherlock? Are you mocking me again?_

_It’s… never mind. They’re taller, for one. Larger in frame._

_Similar to that other thing you travel with._

_Solas. Say it with me. Soooolaaaas._

_I will not deign to give it a name._

_You don’t have to give him a name. As it happens, he already has one._ Rolling her eyes at Aella’s derisive snort, Aislinn kept pace with the hobbled guide that had been provided them by Abelas, one of the Sentinels that served Mythal and protected her sanctuary. Glittering mosaics covered almost every inch of the walls, in remarkable condition despite their age, the gold leaf and plate still shining in the dim torchlight that lined the corridors. What had this looked like in its prime? She remembered the vision of Arlathan that Solas had shown her that first time in the Fade. Had it gleamed like that fabled city?

“Inquisitor. You and those elf-things don’t know when to stop, do you?” Samson pulled his sword out of the prone sentinel beneath his boots, the water around them swirling a bloody crimson. 

“It appears not,” Aislinn spat. “Why are you here? What is the point of all of this bloodshed? For a well?”

Leering down at her and her companions, he thumped his glowing armor, the red lyrium singing its discordant song along her nerves. “The Well of Sorrows, Inquisitor. Corypheus chose me as his Vessel. You want to know what’s inside the Well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor. You’re no match for him. Even if you drink from the Well, you’ll never master its wisdom as he could. It’s a new world. With a new god.”

_Wisdom. Power…_

_No_ , Aislinn hissed, bristling under Aella’s sudden, piqued interest. _I do not need it._

_We could be gods, you fool! My brother is not worthy. We must obtain the Well for ourself._

It was almost impossible to ignore the other woman’s rigid determination, trying to drown out her own thoughts, derail her focus from her mission. _Stop Samson. Stop Corypheus. That’s all I’m here for. Stop Samson. Stop Corypheus._ Taking a firm step towards the leering, triumphant general, Aislinn’s fingers wrapped around the stone rune in her pocket. “Gods are overrated, didn’t you know? And yours is nothing more than a whiny, spoiled brat.”

“What did you do?” Samson screamed as the red lyrium in his armor met its demise, becoming nothing more than dead rocks as soon as she activated the rune that Dagna had forged for her. “My armor, it’s- _gone_ ,” dropping to his knees, he glared up at her with his once again mortal strength. “Kill them all!”

Three seconds was all it took for Aislinn to realize that this was a fight she could not leave to her friends, much to her dismay and Aella’s delight. Feeling her control slip from her fingers as she chained lightning and crumpled armor into whatever soft, fleshy bits were left of the red templars, Aislinn burned her way through the creatures, barely noticing the carnage as she strode through the now empty chamber, to where one last Sentinel waited at the top of the dais in the back of the hall.

Abelas watched her approach with wary eyes, his limbs tensed for more battle. “We had a deal, Inquisitor.”

_You cannot mean to let him destroy the Well?! The very knowledge alone cannot be lost!_

_When did you suddenly start caring about the elves' history?_

“No!” Morrigan raced up the stairs on Aislinn’s heels. “If we leave the Well untouched, Corypheus will just send more of his forces to claim it. It offers power, Inquisitor. If you can use that power against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?”

“Not you too,” Aislinn groaned, bending over in the dust, struggling to wrest control back from a screeching Aella. “Abelas, do it.” 

The Iron Bull reached out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, rumbling under his breath, “Good choice, boss,”, Blackwall echoing his sentiments. Behind him, Solas frowned, yet said nothing.

_No!_

“No!”

The swirling magical energies that were about to consume the Well abruptly waned as Abelas stared down at the blade protruding from his chest. “Morrigan,” Aislinn hissed. _Dammit!_

_She did what had to be done, what you were too weak to do. How we could share the same spirit, I will never understand. We are nothing alike._

_I’ll take that as a compliment, bitch._

_The Well still stands. Take it._

_I will not._

_Then who will? Will you let Sethius take its knowledge? Use it against you? You will fall, Aislinn. All of Thedas will be destroyed, and it will be all. Your. Fault._

She barely heard the others arguing around her. All her fault. The weight of the world had rested squarely on her shoulders since she had walked out of the Fade with this blasted anchor on her hand, but this? If she took that Well, she would subject Thedas to Aella’s own personal reign of terror. Her power combined with the knowledge that laid in those shimmering waters, the very idea…

_We would rule the world._

_We would destroy the world._

_We would remake it! The people would show up the respect and worship we deserve! That I was denied in life!_

_I don’t need it. And you? Your time has passed._

“Let me drink, Inquisitor. Inquisitor?”

Blinking up dazedly at the pale witch standing above her, Aislinn slowly brushed the dirt off her hands, and pushed off the tiled floor. When had she even fallen? “Take it.”

“Inquisitor, are you-” Cutting off Solas’ protests with one jerk of her hand, Aislinn gasped as Aella finally released the full weight of her fury.

_I WILL NOT LET YOU RUIN THIS!_

“Bull,” she wheezed, blinding reaching for the Qunari’s arm. “If you value this world at all, keep me down. At all costs.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

_NO! THAT WELL IS MINE! I WILL NOT LET SOME PALTRY HEDGE WITCH TAKE IT FROM ME!_

“Release me at once!” Aislinn snarled in a tone that was not hers, thrashing in the mercenary’s brutal grip. “I will kill you, creature. Witch! I command you to halt! I have changed my mind! That Well is mine to possess.” With a curious glance back, Morrigan paused at the lip of the pool.

“Inquisitor?”

 _No!_ Aislinn gasped silently. _Morrigan, don’t stop!_

Gritting his teeth against the lightning scorching its way up his leathery skin, the Iron Bull’s hands almost faltered as Aella continued to rage. “Blackwall,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Right,” the warrior stepped up to the pair, pushing stoically through the fire that suddenly erupted from the slight mage, the smell of burning leather and skin filling their nostrils. “Sorry about this, my lady,” he panted.

A vicious shriek tore from her lungs as Aislinn glared up at his raised gauntleted fist. “No! You would dare-”

The world fell blissfully silent and dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inner cat fight!


	48. To Become a Demon

“So you share a spirit with this Aella?”

Nodding, Aislinn stepped into the clearing behind Morrigan, taking in the overgrown vines that wound their way around the ancient shrine. It was nice to get away from Skyhold, even if it was with the mage that was far too much like her Tevinter counterpart for Aislinn’s comfort. Between beating herself up over the Iron Bull’s and Blackwall’s new scars that hadn’t been healed quickly enough, waiting around for Cullen to return, and missing her son, she had been a proper mess for the last week since they had escaped the Temple of Mythal through the eluvian back home. And now she was here in this grassy shrine, watching as Morrigan completed the last of the ritual, and bound herself to a god that the witch believed to no longer exist.

“Come to us, Mythal. Whatever you are, whatever remains, I invoke your name and your power.” 

Magic older and more powerful than she had ever felt before stirred through Aislinn’s veins, and yet Aella remained mercifully silent, apparently content for once to merely observe. _Probably still sulking that I didn’t get the Well_. Squinting her eyes at the figure walking to them from across the field, she almost missed Morrigan’s soft growl.

“Mother.” 

The regal, silver haired mage who approached them smirked, the leather of her armored robes rustling over the tall grass. With a lazy wave of her hand, the elderly woman canceled Morrigan’s brewing spell. 

“What did you do to me?!”

“I did nothing. You drank from the Well of your own volition,” the mage chortled.

“Mythal,” Aislinn breathed. She was real, actual flesh and blood. How would Aella have reacted, to have been bound to an elven goddess, of all things? _If anything, she should be thanking me, for sparing her such a fate. Maybe I should have drank from the Well. Would serve her right._

“I carry a part of her, yes. You can, however, just call me Flemeth,” her yellow eyes, identical to her daughter’s, crinkled as her lips curled into a shrouded smile. “What was Mythal, anyways? A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning. Speaking of truth,” leveling her gaze on Aislinn, Flemeth gestured with one hand. “You have questions. Questions to which I quite possibly have the answers.”

“Ques- You mean, you know?” Aislinn’s voice was a faint whisper, practically lost to the gentle breeze that ruffled through the glen.

“I know a lot of things, child. Some more useful than not. But you, yes, you. You already suspected, didn’t you?”

“I’m… from Thedas, aren’t I?” Staring at the green of the grass under her feet, Aislinn briefly marveled that it was so similar to Earth’s own vegetation. “That means I was taken from here. Why? Why me?”

Cocking her head at the Inquisitor, Flemeth elegantly crossed her slender hands before her. “It is true. Your spirit has always existed on Thedas, bound to the Fade. The rise of Corypheus was anticipated by some, as was the chance that he would seek the most current incarnation of the only family he had left- you. And so you were taken as an infant, to a place where he could not reach you, where you could grown unhindered and one day return, as the only person in the world who would be able to defeat him.”

So it hadn’t been random. It wasn’t some crack in the ether, a random rift. _Fate… No. I am still me. I still chose the path I took. Didn't I?_ “And my- my parents?” Dear god, Maker, she had a _family_. She wasn’t an orphan after all. Did she have uncles and aunts? Cousins? An entire clan of relatives, who had missed her all these years?

“I cannot say, unfortunately. But were I you, I would begin my search along the Nevarran-Tevinter border. Now, back to my errant daughter,” turning to face Morrigan, who still appeared to be grappling with her new chains that tethered her to her mother, Flemeth held out one hand, her fingers hovering just beyond her daughter’s forehead. “The voices you heard, girl- they did not lie. I can help you fight Corypheus. Do you understand?”

“I… do.”

Silently, both Aislinn and Morrigan watched as Flemeth disappeared back into her cloud of smoke. Mythal was real. The voices had a way for them to combat Corypheus’ dragon. Aislinn had parents. Lochlan had grandparents. Would they welcome her? Did they miss her? Who were they?

“All things considered, Inquisitor, I now wish you had drunk from the Well.”

Aislinn snorted with all the grace she could muster, ignoring Aella’s own ‘hmph’ of disdain. “No, thank you. I have enough voices in my own head. Last thing I need is a few hundred more. Are we finished here then?”

“We are. All that is left now is to find and defeat Corypheus,” Morrigan murmured.

“Hooray.”

*** 

Skyhold just wasn’t the same without her people inside the walls. No Cullen in his tower, no Varric by the hearth, no Dorian in the library, no Josephine in her office. And most of the soldiers were on their way back from the Wilds, so not even the sounds of the men and their training filled the air. It was so empty. And rather depressing.

Clattering down the stairs from Leliana’s rookery, having extracted a promise from her spymaster to begin looking into her parentage, Aislinn paused on the second level, leaning out over the banister to admire the murals, now almost complete.

“Inquisitor,” Solas glanced up, offering her a polite smile. “What do you think?”

Descending the rest of the way down to the solar, she turned a wide, slow arc, staring in awe up at the drying paint. “It’s incredible. But why?”

“Besides the fact I find painting to be therapeutic?” He tapped the exposed stone with the end of his brush. “The truth. How much of it is lost, twisted to time? The world thinks Tevinter destroyed Arlathan, but we know that to be a lie. The Chantry teaches that the Magisters Sidereal were tainted by their sin and turned the Golden City Black, but you proved that wrong. What will people say about you, about the Inquisition in another hundred, thousand years? At least with this, there is some permanence to the real narrative. Regardless of what Varric might write.”

“I think I prefer his story to the real thing,” she snorted. “He makes me sound so much more confident and capable than I really was.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Solas chuckled softly. “There are not many who could have done what you have done, while dealing with everything else, and still retained their compassion at the end.”

“But have I?”

“Aella.” He paused, sapphire blue eyes glowing brightly even in the strained light. “I’ve been doing some research. And I think I know what you have to do, but it is still unclear as to how it should happen.”

“I have to reseal her, behind whatever barrier I broke through that day,” sighing, Aislinn slumped into a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even know what I did. I was desperate, and angry that the Qun ship had sunk, that the Venatori were escaping, and I just blindly reached into my mana, and yanked on something. And it felt like a wave, crashing over me. So much power flooding through my veins. It- it sang. Y’know,” her voice dropped to a muffled whisper, “I say I don’t want the power. That I’d be happy to give it up for my normalcy back. But the more I use it, the more she sinks her claws into my mind, the more the idea of giving it up repulses me. And it’s justified, isn’t it? Without this extra boost, could I have done all the things I have? Will I be able to fight Corypheus without Aella?” 

_What if I’m not enough? What if I fail if I am alone?_

_You’re not alone_ , her subconscious chided. _You have your friends. They won’t let you fall._

 _Those weak facsimiles? Mages barely capable of parlor tricks? Warriors who rely on_ faith _? We could tear through their ilk in a heartbeat. What are they to us? How do they measure against our power?_

_It’s true. I took down that dragon in the Wastes almost all on my own. I probably could take one alone._

_But you don’t need to do it alone. That’s why you have a team._

_What good is my team if I can do it all without them? Moral support?_

Dark eyes slowly opened in horror, staring unfocused at the thin layer of dust on the pale gray stone floor. She couldn’t tell who was who anymore.

She couldn’t tell if it was Aella or her own mind speaking.

Understanding and something akin to pity lined the elven mage’s face, Aella- or was it her?- bristling at the unwelcome response.

_Look at how he gazes down at us, as if we were beneath him. We could crush him in a heartbeat._

_He’s been nothing but helpful to me though, hasn’t he?_

_And yet you don’t trust him. You know he’s hiding something from you. Are you sure he has your best interests in mind?_

Her fists involuntarily clenched. If there was one thing Aislinn hated, it was secrets. Especially secrets from someone she was supposed to trust with her life.

_But everyone is entitled to their privacy. There are a million things I don’t know about my friends._

_And you still trust them?_

_Why do I trust them?_

“The longer she lurks in your mind, the more secure her foothold becomes,” he murmured gently. “And the harder it will be to expel her.”

“Thank you, Solas, for everything you’ve done so far,” Aislinn nodded, her voice and back stiff. Turning to leave, she ignored the elf’s call, striding back out into the hall. Who could she trust anymore? Cullen. Always Cullen. Dorian had always been pretty open with her, right? And the Iron Bull, now that he was Tal-Vashoth. Varric, he had been her friend long than almost anyone else.

_No, you see they way they murmur about you behind your back. You heard it, when we were in the desert. How they spoke of taming us. Wanting to fix you, as if you were broken._

_I’m not broken!_

_No, you’re not. You are even stronger now. Forged in lightning and fire. Nothing can touch you, nothing can mark you._

_Invincible._

_Yes. All you have to do is accept your past to embrace your future._

_Accept my-_ The haze fled from Aislinn’s mind as she realized what was happening. Wasn’t this how they spoke of demonic possession? ‘Let me in, and I’ll give you all you dream of’? Let go of her sense of self, surrender to Aella, lose all that she was? _I might as well let Cullen take my head now. Abomination. That is what I would be._

_No, that is not-_

_Go. Away._

The sharp, sweet tang of dawn lotus cut across her nostrils as Aislinn stumbled blindly into the garden, leaning against the nearest pillar for support. The pitted stone was cool and rough under her fingers, a soft breeze drying the thin sheen of sweat that had beaded across her forehead. _I’m losing it. I’m officially losing it._

“Linn?”

She could have cried at the sound of his voice, wholly unexpected. Whirling around so fast her braid whipped across her face, Aislinn threw herself into his familiar arms with a strangled gasp, pressing her cheek into his silverite breastplate, still covered with a layer of dust and dirt from the road. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” his soft kidskin gloves stroked the back of her neck. “That’s why I reek to high heaven. What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her tears even though she knew that he knew they were there, Aislinn wiped her face and offered him a quavering smile. “I’ll tell you later. Because yes, you do smell and you desperately need a bath.”

His brow creased as he studied her face, before resigning himself to the fact that there would be no wrangling out her problems for now. “Alright. Come up with me? I want to hear about what exactly happened, the unofficial report, if you will. Maker, I’ve never been so scared like when the soldiers told me that you had disappeared. I thought-” His voice broke.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, cradling his hand against her cheek. “I wish I could have left a note. Pinned it to Samson’s head, maybe. Did you find him?”

“Yes. He’s in the dungeons now. Have you thought about what you’re going to do with him?”

Letting him lead her back inside the keep, Aislinn shrugged. “He’s make a fantastic jester, don’t you think?”

“If you want to frighten all the nobles, perhaps,” he snorted. 

“Ooh, I’m sure Dagna would be excited to get a piece of him. Literally.”

“I, um, oh dear.”

At his half-stricken, half-horrified, vaguely nauseous expression, Aislinn burst into a fit of giggles. “Don’t worry. I know how serious this is, Cullen.”

“I know you do,” pushing the door to her room open, he began methodically stripping out of his armor, stacking each piece on the stand in the corner of the room. Settling herself down on the sofa, resting her arms on the back of the cushion, a nostalgic smile twitched at her lips as she watched him move about the room. “What?”

“Just brings back memories,” she replied.

“Mm. We’ve come a long way since then,” he threw his soiled shirt into the hamper, muscles in his back rolling as he stretched out the stiffness from the long ride back to Skyhold. A new, faintly pink scar spanned the side of his right ribs, telling of a wound that was healed back in the Arbor Wilds. Hers wasn’t the only dangerous life. True, he spent most of his time here, behind a desk, but still. Cullen was a warrior, trained from adolescence to the sword and shield. He would have to worry about her in battle just until this mess was over; she would be fretful for his safety the rest of her life, for could he ever truly hang up his weapons? Being a templar, a soldier- this was the only life he ever really had known. Could he give it up? “You’re looking awfully pensive.”

“Lot on my mind. It’s been quiet here without everyone,” she murmured, still fixated on his healing wound.

Glancing down to see what she was staring at, Cullen slowly padded over to the sofa, tilting her chin up with one hand. “Hey. I’m alright. It was just a little scratch.”

“I know, but-”

“But nothing. I won’t have you worrying over-”

“Bullshit.”

“Beg pardon?”

Her eyes cut into a narrow glare as she shoved at his chest. “You can’t obsess over my safety, and then tell me not to worry about you. It doesn’t work like that.”

Swallowing whatever retort he held on the end of his tongue, Cullen slumped where he stood, sheepishly poking at the rug with one toe. “I know. And Maker knows I’m as bad as a mother hen-”

“As bad? You’re at _least_ ten times worse.”

“- _So_ , I apologize. But I really am okay.” The skin of his hand was rough against her as he caressed her face, pausing to drop a kiss onto the top of her head before heading back into the small bathing room. “How have you been feeling?”

“Less tired now. I actually feel pretty good these days,” she called back. “I think, by my calculations, I’m just about four months in? So Cloudreach-ish is when we should be expecting this one. Oh, I got a letter from Lochlan and Alistair two days ago. Alistair is considering knighting Mimo; apparently, she, um, defecated into the Bann of Oswin’s shoe one night.”

“And he wants to do _what_ with the fox?”

“Knight her. Alistair hates him,” she giggled, heading for the small room. “Otherwise, Lochlan is doing well. He’s decided he wants to learn to carve, so he can make his baby sibling their own menagerie.”

“He’s going to be the best big brother,” Cullen smiled lazily up at Aislinn, who was now leaning against the door frame, blowing away the steam from her face. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, me.”

“So are you going to talk to me about what was bothering you earlier?”

She scowled down out at him, shoving a lock of hair behind her ear. “Of course you haven’t forgotten. It’s Aella.” Grabbing a nearby stool, she pulled it up to the edge of the tub, propping her chin on the rim of the copper basin, her eyes downcast, staring vacantly into the dark water. “Solas says the longer she’s in my head, the harder it’s going to be to reseal her. Even with my attempts to keep her at bay, not casting unless I have to, I can tell she’s… like a fucking snake. Hooking into my mind. Warping my thoughts. She almost feels like a demon. Offering me power if I’ll just let her all the way in.”

Every muscle in his body went rigid as soon as she uttered the word ‘demon’, the water stilling into a glassy mirror as he ceased all movement. Even his chest barely rose, only the faint throbbing of his pulse letting her know he was still alive. “What can we do?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I have no idea where to even begin. I have to reseal her, but I don’t know where to start. Solas is looking into it. I wonder if Cole might have any suggestions,” she muttered, closing her eyes to shutter out the pained expression on his face.

The water splashed against her face as he shifted in the tub, one finger leaving a wet trail down her cheek. “We’ll do it together,” he replied as firmly as he was able. “Whatever you need, whatever it takes. I won’t lose you to this. Not now, not ever.”

“You got me all wet,” wrinkling her nose, Aislinn flicked water back up at him, wiping her face with her sleeve.

“Not yet, I haven’t.” Instantly, her thighs clenched at the sultry tone, warmth pooling in her belly as a smug, confident smirk twisted up the scar that marred his lip.

“Oh? And what do you intend to do, ser? Keep splashing me?” The weight and heavy tension that had been stifling them both lifted, replaced with a different sort of pressure. Her eyes widened at the dancing light in his honeyed eyes. “Cullen, no-”

His hand came down around her wrist like a vice, and with one mighty jerk, Aislinn shrieked as she was pulled into the tub, sputtering and coughing. Flailing around, her fists found their mark, hammering away at his tone chest as his head fell back, curls flopping over his head, laughing at her indignant glare. Not that she cut much of a terrifying figure now, her blouse and breeches drenched, her obsidian hair that managed to escape her braid plastered to her face.

“You are impossible.” He began kissing her head.

“Mm. You still love me though,” struggling to no avail to dislodge his arms from around her waist, Aislinn finally gave up to his superior strength, tilting her head so he could continue his lip’s descent down the sensitive column of her neck. 

“Maker knows why,” she grumbled.

“I doubt He even knows,” Cullen murmured against her skin. “But whatever the reason, I will be eternally grateful. Do we have time? Or is there anywhere we have to be?”

Gasping as his clever fingers found her hypersensitive breasts, roaming over the slight swell of her belly, Aislinn groaned and tugged his head down closer. “I’m the Inquisitor. I’ll make time, dammit.”

“Are you ordering me to pleasure you, Inquisitor?” he chuckled into her ear.

She whimpered as his hands drifted lower, her infuriating leggings dulling the sensation. “I’m begging you.”

His eyes positively gleamed, his hands twisting her neck around, mouth crashing into hers, desperate, needy, willing. “Far be it for me to disappoint then,” he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters! AHHH.
> 
> Stop by on Tumblr and tell me what WIP you want to see next! https://kawakaeguri.tumblr.com/post/171939557990/poll-time-which-wip-next


	49. The Void of Family

“Checkmate.”

“Are you cheating again?”

“I do no such thing.”

“I don’t believe you. I saw you playing with Dorian the other day. Has he been attempting to show you his tricks?”

Leaning back in her chair, Aislinn smirked at her Commander, fluttering her sleeve and splaying her fingers. “No cheating. Pure skill, love.”

Cullen snorted, his eyes still scanning the board to see where he went wrong. “Fine. I concede.”

“You don’t have to sound so distraught over it.”

“I’m not distraught, I’m-” Glancing up towards her face, an amused grin twisting up her full lips, he set down the piece he was twiddling in his fingers. “It was a good game. Although I was perhaps a tad bit distracted.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” With a raised eyebrow, Cullen lifted her feet from his lap, where her toes had been tracing little circles against his thighs the whole game. 

“Oh, you don’t, do you?”

“You never told me to stop,” she pointed out with a giggle.

“That’s because I didn’t want you to,” his eyes drifted down to her loose blouse that was hiding the gentle swell of her abdomen. With a fierceness that startled even him, his blood roared to life in remembrance of how soft she felt under his hands just that morning, the sounds she had made as he teased her, the taste of her on his tongue-

“Inquisitor?”

Jumping in his seat, Cullen tried valiantly to hide his growing erection from Leliana, but damn the woman, she had already seen, judging by the bright glint in her eyes and the way her thin lips were trying to hide her smirk. 

“I have the information you requested.”

“You- you found them?” Aislinn stared in a mixture of anticipation and trepidation at the scroll in the other woman’s hands, her own fingers twitching in excitement or fear, which one, she wasn’t sure.

“Found who?” Cullen frowned.

Her voice was so faint, it was almost lost to the whisper of the breeze. “My parents.” Reverently caressing the parchment, she barely heard the last of Leliana’s warning.

“...what you expected.”

Murmuring his thanks, Cullen turned back towards his fiancé- _fiancé, Maker’s breath, we’re getting married_ \- who still sat frozen like the statue in the small shrine to their left. “Linn, did you hear what she said?” She shook her head, the barest jerk of her chin. “You should go somewhere private to read that. Not out here.”

Caught up in a trance with no will of her own, Aislinn let him lead her to the first empty room he came across, warm candlelight flickering over the statue of Andraste at one end of the tiny chantry. Her knees dropped to the freshly swept stone, heedless of the pain that reverberated through her legs or Cullen’s wince of sympathy. “You open it.”

He gently shoved back her arm that she had thrust out at him. “It’ll be alright, Linn. I’m here.”

“I can’t, I can’t, what if-”

“Nothing is certain until you read. And nothing will change between us.” A slight frown wrinkled her brow at his last words, but still, she took back the scroll and, with a deep inhalation, she began to read. And shake.

“I’m- my name, it’s… Callista. Callista Naevius.” Sitting completely on the floor, Cullen scooted over until she was practically in his lap, cradling her trembling body close. “My father is Gavian Naevius, and my mother is Amaranta Sommer, formerly of Nevarra. I’m apparently a direct descendant of the first Archon, Darinius Naevius. Their- _our_ family is old, with many ties to the Magisterium. Cullen, I have family. Two brothers, and a sister. Alair, Julian, and Amaranda.”

Cullen grinned at her hesitant, dreamy smile, watching her fingers from one hand trace Leliana’s neat handwriting. “That’s wonderful, love.”

“Isn’t it?” she sighed. “I have parents. They’re still alive, and… Wait.” Snatching up the parchment, her eyes scanned down a few paragraphs. “ _No_. No no no no.”

“Linn?” he whispered.

Tears splattered his hand, interlaced with hers. “Julian and Amaranda. They were… Venatori. My parents, they- they helped fund the cult. They supported Corypheus! How-” Her body froze, save for the hammering of her heart. “My siblings. They’re dead. Killed by Inquisition forces. Alair lives, he’s the heir. What if- God, Cullen, what if _I killed them_?”

Gripping her tightly, Cullen pulled the scroll away and gathered her up into his arms. Maker, her limbs were like ice now, her magic sparking erratically under his skin. “You can’t think like that, love. There’s no way of knowing. You’d only be torturing yourself if you follow that line of thought. They chose their path in life. And you chose yours. What they did, how they died, is through no fault of yours.”

“Isn’t it, though,” she muttered into his chest, hands clenched in his tunic. “Someone _chose_ me, sent me away. Ensured I was raised differently, safe from Corypheus and my own parents. Someone brought be back, led me here, to the Inquisition. Mythal said I was the only person that could possibly defeat him. So how can you say I chose my path?”

“You told me you didn’t believe in fate-”

“That was before I knew all of this!” Aislinn spat bitterly, shoving herself away from him. “Someone has been playing god with me, using me like a pawn this whole time! How much of these last eight years has been orchestrated? And by whom? How much of my life has been out of my control?”

Shielding his eyes from the sudden glare of her Anchor, Cullen watched as she stormed up to the statue of Andraste, glaring up at the silent effigy.

“Was it you, hmm? If Mythal is real and still exists, are you real then, too? Are you the one fucking with me?!”

Warily, gently, he drew her back into his chest, her spine stiff against him. “You chose me,” he whispered in her ear. “Over, and over. You chose to love me, to marry me. Not everything in your life was preordained. You didn’t have to stay with the Inquisition-”

“Of course I did, I-”

“No,” he shook his head, his voice firm and unyielding. “You didn’t. It was the right thing to do, but you didn’t have to do the right thing. You could have left us all, disappeared with Lochlan, but you stayed to help, going beyond what anyone could have asked of you. You chose to help the refugees in the Crossroads, to welcome the mages as equals, to pardon the Grey Wardens, to save Celene. There were a million different possibilities that you have faced over the years, but all the little things you decided, those are on you. And you chose to give me a second chance. And a third.”

“That I can’t help,” she snorted, her body finally relaxing into his. “I’m pretty much helpless when it comes to you.”

Smiling, he nuzzled her hair, breathing in her familiar sweetness. “And you chose to say yes when I asked you to marry me.”

“I did, didn’t I,” she murmured. “Fine, Rutherford. You win.”

_So it is in your blood. If they hadn’t meddled in your life, imagine what we could be._

_If who hadn’t meddled? Aella, who did this to me?_

The other woman fell silent.

“Linn?”

Blinking away the glow of silver from her eyes, Aislinn turned slowly in his arms, kicking at the scroll with one booted toe. “I don’t think I want to read the rest.”

“Would you like to set it on fire, or shall I?” Cullen huffed a small laugh as the paper burst into flames. “Well, I suppose that settles it.”

“Commander? Message for you, ser,” a messenger called from just outside the door.

“Go,” she smiled at his hesitance. “I’ll be fine now. I’m just going to stay in here a bit longer.”

Nodding, he tilted her chin up, his lips trailing over hers in a soft kiss. “I love you. Never forget that.”

Aislinn took a seat cross-legged in the center of the room, breathing in the heady scent of the melting beeswax and incense. _Who were you really? If Mythal was real, and the rest of the Elven pantheon and the Old Gods, does that mean the Maker is real? Is God real? Who are you?_ Predictably, the stone woman remained silent. Aella did not.

 _Upstart prophet_ , she sniffed. _I have never heard of her, or this Maker. Silly rabble and their thirst for more chains to bind them._

_Says the lady who worshipped a dragon. She came a couple centuries after you, I think._

_I suppose in the absence of the Old Gods, humans longed for something else to replace them with. If they only knew their true might._

_Alistair killed one of your gods. I don’t think they’re as strong as you believe._

_Well, not now, after centuries of sleep and with the taint. But in their prime, there was nothing they could not do. You would know this, had you been raised with your true family. But you were stripped away, denied your mother’s love, forced to live in a world that was not your own, oblivious to your own birthright. All those nights you spent crying, thinking your family had abandoned you, that you were alone and you were not. You had parents, who longed for your return just as you prayed for their existence_.

Aislinn stared at her hands. What would her life have been like, had she grown up here? Would she have fond memories of her parents? Of her siblings? Would they have played together as children, fought and loved? She saw how Cullen’s face softened every time he spoke of his family back in South Reach. _I thought I was over it, that I had made my peace. I was an orphan, and I was okay with that. But someone took me, denied me-_

 _It worked out better this way, didn’t it?_ A small voice piped up in the back of her mind. _If you had stayed, you would have allied with Corypheus, just as your family did. You would never have met Cullen, had Lochlan, or conceived this child._ Her hand drifted to her belly, covering the slight bump.

 _But, a family, I… I could have known what it was like to_ belong. _To be loved, to be held as a child, to feel wanted._

_You have those things now, with Cullen._

_But do you?_ Aella cut in archly. _He abandoned you before. Do you truly think he would not do so again? Can you meet his family without thinking of what was ripped from you?_

Aislinn hadn’t thought of that.

To sit there with his brother and sisters, to know now what she had lost…

 _No. Your brother and sister are dead. Maybe by your own hand. I wonder, did they know? Did you look like either of them? Perhaps share of their same quirks?_ Aislinn stared down at her hands, the firelight bathing her skin in tones of gold and crimson.

_So much blood. So much death. I’m so tired of it all._

_You could end it. Truly unite the world under one rule. Bring peace to a land that has only ever known war._

_That’s folly._

_But you are not like the emperors of old, who only sought glory and power,_ Aella cooed. _You are a healer. Can you turn your back on the world, when you can change things for the better?_

Rising wearily, Aislinn stumbled out of the chantry into the dusky twilight. Lost in her thoughts, she took the stairs to the upper battlements, ambling down the stone parapets with no destination in mind, watching the people below. Her people. Hadn’t she made life better for them? And in every town she visited, hadn’t she stopped to help the residents? Why couldn’t she do the same for the rest of the world? Already, the Inquisition was a stabilizing force in Thedas. Ending wars, resolving conflicts. She had even had a hand in helping two lovers escape their families so they could be together. Everywhere she went, every life she touched- they were better off for it. Weren’t they?

Her feet automatically carried her through the guard towers to the Commander’s door. Pausing just for a second before she pushed it open, Aislinn took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the light. He was back in his armor once again, the warm fur of his mantle brushing against his cheek as he scribbled on a report at his desk. Glancing up at the sound of his door creaking, Cullen smiled at her, his face relaxing at the sight. “How are you feeling, love?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “Drained.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” he agreed. Tossing down his quill, he moved to meet her halfway, pulling her against his cold silverite armor. “Have supper with me?”

 _He won’t abandon me again. Even now, he discards the rest of his workload without a second’s thought. He’s nothing like he used to be. He’s chosen- me over duty._ “Sounds nice.”

“Inquisitor?” The door swung open to reveal a dark haired mage, yellow eyes scanning the dim office before alighting on her target. “I wondered if I would find you here. I bring news.”

“Oh?” At Morrigan’s wary glance towards the Commander, Aislinn shrugged and said, ”I’d tell him whatever you said anyways, so might as well just go ahead and save me the trouble of repeating it. Stop gloating, it’s unattractive,” she huffed, reaching over to flick at the smug smirk plastered across his face.

“Yes, dear.”

“...If you are certain. I have been consulting the voices for a solution to your problem. But I fear you will not like it,” the witch replied slowly.

“Why wouldn’t I like it? If it gets Aella to shut up permanently, I love it already,” Aislinn frowned.

“Yes, but… it involves blood magic. And it has to be the blood of one not related to you, someone not tainted by her.”

_Tainted? Tainted?! Who the hell does this creature think she is?!_

Cullen took a solid step forward, his boots echoing through the silence. A tic spasmed in his jaw, eyes narrowing as he said, “Use me.”

All the blood left Aislinn’s head. Whirling around, she could not do much more than gape at him. Even Morrigan seemed taken aback. “That… would suffice,” she nodded.

“No,” Aislinn breathed. “Cullen, you can’t, you hate-”

“I know,” he hissed through gritted teeth, hands clenched around the pommel of his sword until his knuckles bled white. “But I will do it. What do you need, Lady Morrigan?”

“I will requi-”

“ _No_ ,” whirling in place, Aislinn moved herself between the Commander and the occult advisor. “I won’t let him. We will find another way.”

“I suspected you might say that. However, can you afford to wait until another solution presents itself? Can you afford to ignore it? You almost killed two of your companions. How long before you lose control, Inquisitor?”

Damn the witch. Every word she spoke rang with the truth, and yet… This was Cullen they were talking about. A former templar who abhorred all things blood magic. She had first met the man when he was sent to put down blood mages, like rabid dogs, and now he was offering to be her sacrifice?”

“Aislinn. Is what she says true?” She nodded in response to his quiet query. “Who?”

“...Bull and Blackwall. I had them… restrain me, at the Well,” she whispered. “Aella wanted the power the Well offered, but I did not.”

“How close did she come?”

“...Too close.”

“Your companions will bear the scars you gave them for life, Inquisitor,” Morrigan murmured softly, although not unkindly. “Anyone with thinner skin or armor than they might not have survived. Think about your son.”

Lochlan. This new baby. “It’s worse than you made it sound,” even though his tone was gentle, she heard the pain and accusation behind his words.

“I didn’t want to worry you anymore than you already are,” Aislinn tried to hold back the tears that were welling in her eyes, to no avail. “I’m scared, Cullen. I’m starting to agree with her, the things she says. I don’t know how much longer I can hold her off. But I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want you to resent me for this down the road.”

“Linn, Linn,” his own voice broke as he clutched her tight. “Will you give us a moment?” With a tilt of her tapered chin, Morrigan disappeared from the office. “Linn,” Cullen choked. “Remember what I said to you the other day? I told you whatever you need, whatever it takes. This is my decision. Let me do this. Let me keep you safe.”

“Not like this,” she sobbed, hands tangled in his mantle. “Not like this.”

With a heavy sigh, he laid his cheek against the top of her head. “Marry me.”

“I already told you I would,” she sniffed. “Idiot.”

“I meant today. Right now.”

“I thought you wanted to wait?” Pulling back, she wiped away the tears with one sleeve, frowning up at him. “So that Lochlan and I could meet your family before the wedding.”

“I know. I don’t want to wait anymore though,” throwing his gloves to one side, he ran his hands through her hair, lightly scratching her scalp in the way she loved. “Life is too short, too unsure. The only thing that makes sense right now is my love for you. So, marry me?”

“Always,” she replied with no hesitation.

“And then, you let me do this for you.”

“Cul-”

“No buts,” he all but growled. “I will not lose you. Not while I can do something about it, not while I still draw breath. Please,” his voice wavered under the stress, a single hot tear splashing against her head. “Please, let me do this.”

Aislinn raised one hand to trace at the hardened lines of his face, his luminous amber eyes harsh and unyielding. A weight settled in her chest when she realized there would be no persuading him from the course he had chosen. 

“If you’re sure, Cullen.”

“Thank you,” he sighed. “I am. Shall I go find a Sister?”

“I’ll meet you in the gardens,” her smile only wavered a bit. “Give me a minute to freshen up?”

“I love you, Aislinn.”

“I know,” she replied simply. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggling with the last scene of the next chapter. Whyyyyyyyyy.
> 
> So here, have angst and feels and *sobs*.


	50. Beginning of the End

The dress she had managed to find at the back of her wardrobe reminded her of the beach. Long, with a flowing soft cream lacey skirt that swirled around her ankles, an empire fitted bodice, and wispy sleeves that hugged the sides of her shoulders. It was wholly out of fashion with Orlais, and definitely not Antivan or Ferelden, causing her to wonder where it had even come from. Rivaini, perhaps? Either way, she was glad of its existence; it was perfect for today. 

Shaking out her braid, combing through the loose waves, Aislinn let her hair hang freely around her, the ends grazing the base of her spine. A pang of regret that Lochlan wouldn’t be here gripped her heart as she descended back down into the keep. Maybe, after this was all over and he was back safely with them, they could have a small celebration of their own. But she knew that right now, this is what she and Cullen needed. Just the two of them, like how it was when this all began.

Tucking her hair behind one ear, she crept down through the still mostly empty keep, doing her best to avoid the nobility that still lingered in the main hall, or god forbid, Josephine. If the ambassador found her now, dressed like this, she and Cullen could kiss any hope of a private ceremony goodbye. 

She spotted him under the stone gazebo across the gardens next to Mother Giselle, wearing one of the new navy blue jacquard tunics that he had been so steadfast in his refusal to wear for the nobility, the golden embroidery reflecting the sunlight back at her. He looked like the sun itself, radiant and brilliant, his eyes widening at the sight of her, jaw slacking open, nostrils flaring.

“You look,” he breathed at her approach, “ _Perfect_. You should wear your hair like this more often.” Shyly tucking the crystal grace bloom he had plucked in her midnight waves, he offered her a low bow, taking her hand in his. “Shall we, my lady?”

Her fingers all but crushed his as he led her into the gazebo, her heart thundering in her chest so hard she could see it move under her dress. They were here, really getting married, and all she felt was-

Peace. Hope. There it was, eternity in his smile, and all she wanted was to drown in him for the rest of her life.

She barely heard his vows, or understood what she said in return. Everything she needed to know was there in the light of his amber eyes, in the curve of his lips, in the solid feel of his warm, calloused hands, grounding her to the moment . A promise made to love each other for the rest of their lives, come what may. Family. Home. It wasn’t with the ones who had birthed her, some distant nobles in Tevinter. Home was wherever he was, with their son, and the new life that was still growing inside of her.

“By the power vested in me by the Maker, His Bride, and the Divine, I do proclaim you to be husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Commander.”

“I can scarcely believe it,” he murmured, pulling her closer.

“Just kiss me,” she sighed. With a small laugh, he cupped her face, rubbing one thumb over the soft skin before dropping his lips to hers. A brief kiss, confident, yet still somehow tentative, desperate to believe this miracle was real.

“I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Cullen smiled at the woman as she left them to their newly wedded bliss.

“We’re married,” she said, mostly to herself as if she were trying to convince her mind. “We’re really married.”

“Regretting it already?” He attempted to speak with a note of levity, but she saw the tightening of his jaw, the guarded glint in his eyes, steeling himself for her response.

“No, silly,” leaning up on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling as she felt him melt into her. “Just making sure I’m not dreaming.”

It all had felt so hurried, so rushed, and yet… not. Standing here with him, bound together for the rest of their life, felt like the most natural thing in the world, despite how suddenly it had happened. 

“I know what you mean.” Pausing to enjoy the silence and the feel of her, his _wife_ , in his arms for a moment longer, Cullen pulled back, a familiar light dancing in his eyes.

“Cullen, whatever you’re think- ah!”

His laugh rang out through the gardens as he swept her up in his broad arms, Aislinn giggling at the startled expressions of the few others who witnessed the Commander’s sudden lack of decorum.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying my bride to our room,” she shivered at the dark tone of his voice, the way his gaze roamed her body possessively. “After all, it’s tradition to consummate the marriage soon after the ceremony, is it not?”

“Oh, that’s the tradition you want to uphold? Not the part with family and friends witnessing the union, or the fancy meal and dancing after-”

“No dancing,” he replied firmly. “And we can do the rest later. Right now,” his hand snaked over to grab a fistful of her rear, lips grazing the shell of her ear, “I need to be inside of you.”

Biting back a moan, Aislinn blinked up at him through sooty, long lashes. “Whatever my husband desires.”

*** 

His skin was still slick with sweat, her legs still slightly trembling from their lovemaking hours later. The sun had set long ago, bringing with it the crystal clear stars, twinkling in the velvet sky. One of his arms lay draped across her side, holding her close, his face so serene in slumber for once; no terrors would tear at his dreams tonight.

_Are you happy now?_

Unfortunately, the same lack of nightmares could not be said for her.

_Of all nights, you couldn’t leave me alone just this once? I’m trying to enjoy the moment with my husband, thank you very much._

_Memorize his face, his touch. I once loved, too. I wish I could still recall her face_ , Aella murmured wistfully. _Life is so uncertain. You understand, don’t you? The desire to protect? To be remembered by the ones you love? I was wrong about him. He would stand strong at your side. A lion for a queen. He would not try to hold you back. He would be willing to do anything for you._

Aislinn already knew all of this. Tracing the lines of his face with a featherlight touch, she did what Aella said, and recommitted every wrinkle, every pore to her memory. The way his nose wrinkleded when he scowled. The dorky sound of his laugh after too much ale. His roar of pleasure as he came. The softness of his touch and his voice when he read to their son. The light that blossomed in his eyes whenever she smiled at him. All she wanted was to stay with him. But-

_Something is going to happen, isn’t it?_

_...Yes._

A blinding green light ricocheted across the night sky, tearing through the silence with a resounding crash that shook the very foundations of Skyhold. In less than a heartbeat, Cullen had shot out of bed, reaching for the sword he kept near the bed, every muscle in his body poised for battle despite his nudity. “What was that?!” 

“The Breach,” she whispered, her stare focused out of her balcony door towards where Haven had once stood. “This is it. Corypheus’ final stand.”

“Linn,” she had never seen such fear on his face before as he whirled to face her, his hands clutching the hilt of his weapon in a futile effort to steady his voice. “We have no army to send with you. Only your inner circle, and a small contingent of men. Barely any healers. I-”

“I know, Cullen. But I have to go.”

Flexing his fists, his stare cut through her sharper than any dagger. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t-”

“Don’t tell me I can’t!” he roared.

“Cullen,” crawling to the edge of the mattress, Aislinn reached up to cradle his trembling cheek in one steady hand, brushing a kiss against his tightly sealed lips. “You have to stay here. In case, I- in case I-”

“Don’t say it,” he growled. “ _Please_. I cannot bear it.”

“Alright,” she murmured. “I love you, Cullen. And I will find a way back to you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Huffing softly, she risked a small smile back at him, pausing in front of her dresser. “That’s my line.”

“Yes, well.” Glaring at their discarded finery scattered across the room, he pulled on a plain pair of breeches and one of his simple tunics. How had things changed so much in just a span of hours? One moment, they were enjoying their first moments together as husband and wife. And now, he had to let her go, possibly to her death. Her and their babe’s. How could he? He swore to protect her, and now...

Tying off the braid in her hair and pinning it securely in a bun atop her head, Aislinn finished pulling on the last of her armor, buckling the runed bracers around her slender wrists. “Besides, Aella won’t let me fall.”

Grief overtook him as he watched the Inquisitor descend down into the hall to round up the rest of her companions. “...That’s what I’m afraid of,” he whispered to the empty room.

*** 

Flinging out a weak force spell, Aislinn trapped her friends against the rock as the remnants of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, now riddled with shards of red lyrium, lifted into the air, gaping in horror as the ground fell away beneath them. Higher, higher, they rose to meet a raging Corypheus, his eyes sparking crimson and venom at the sight of her.

This was a disaster. She was supposed to have all of her companions with her, plus the scouts and soldiers that had accompanied them. Instead, there was her, Sera, Varric, and Dorian. Two mages and and two archers to take down a god. Dread settled into every bone in her body.

“Well, shit,” Varric shouldered Bianca, his face drawn and tense as they all gazed up at what was left of the Temple entrance, and the dessicated magister who loomed over them all in the serpentstone light of the Breach. “What now, Storm?”

“Everyone stay out of sight, get hits in when you can. I’m taking point,” Aislinn ordered.

“You can’t be serious,” Dorian grabbed her arm. “You’re not meant for close range combat either.”

“What choice do we have?” she spat bitterly. “He wants me more than the rest of you. If I keep his focus on me long enough, we might have a shot at this. Otherwise…”

It didn’t need to be said. If they failed here, so the world would fall. 

Stepping up behind her, Sera gripped Aislinn’s shoulder. “Right in the danglies,” she whispered, before fading out of sight to take up her position.

“Dear sister, so good of you to come,” Corypheus called, his orb flaring bloody crimson in one hand. “Let us settle this here. Prove, once and for all, which one of us is worthy of godhood.”

“I believe the nug I had for supper the other day was more worthy than you, Sethius,” Aislinn grin faltered as the dragon appeared from the shadows beyond, the red lyrium embedded in his scales casting off their discordant song.

Just as Morrigan, in her own dragon from, barreled into the side of the so-called archdemon. 

“You dare?!” He swore as his pet screamed in agony, Morrigan’s claws holding the thrashing creature in place.

_You need me, Aislinn._

_No, I don’t, I can-_

_Look around you! On your own power, with 2 archers and another second-class mage? Do you truly think you can defeat him by yourself?! Think of your new husband! Of your son, of your unborn child! You will die and leave them all alone to face the end of the world!_

Aislinn froze. If she died here, the Breach would swallow the world. Cullen, Lochlan, they would-

She couldn’t let that happen. No matter what. If the price that was demanded was her very soul, she would give it.

_Do it._

_Very well. But this isn't the last of it._ Holding herself erect, Aislinn fought the urge to scream as power flooded every fiber of her being, burning through her veins until she was certain she would burst into flames at the slightest touch. Eyes flashed brilliant silver, glaring with utter disgust at the creature before her.

“No, you dared,” she snarled. “Dared to believe yourself greater than you were, reaching for things that were beyond your ken! It is because of you, and your foolish, weak ego that I died! That Marcella died! That the Imperium lost its status as ruler of Thedas, after _you_ released the Blight! You should have been content in my shadow little brother. Now, you pay.”

“I am greater than you!” the magister shrieked. “I have always been! No one could see the truth except I when you had them all dazzled by your skills and charm. I should have been heir! I should have been worshipped!”

“Your years in the Fade have left you even more delusional, brother,” she sneered.

Up, higher, she forced Corypheus back, her lightning illuminating the entire sky, overpowering the Breach itself in her might. The other projectiles from her companions barely registered in the face of Aislinn’s new power, finally completely open to the Fade and her past life. Incandescent rage poured from her hands and the obsidian staff she bore, the calm at the eye of the storm, a maelstrom of electricity and gravel and debris whirling around her slight figure in a screaming tempest.

With a shuddering cry of despair, Corypheus knelt on the ground, at his sister’s feet, _where he never should have left_ , she thought in triumph. “Still feeling like a god, little brother?”

A eerie cackle emanated from the shattered monster in between his rasping gasps for breath, the light from the orb in his hand flickering erratically. “It matters not, sister. I know the truth the Old Gods showed me. There are still others left, and they will have their revenge.”

Two more of the Old Gods remained, this much she knew. But the others had been annihilated, obliterated from this plane of existence centuries before. “It matters not. I have the power you always dreamed of, Sethius. The people of Thedas will unite under my rule, like you could never have accomplished. And I will crush any who would dare oppose me, god or not. Starting with you.”

_I won’t let you have me!_

Aella’s laugh echoed through her mind. _Far too late for that, my dear. You gave me control. Do you really think I’d give it back now?_

Scrabbling for a handhold, for any sort of opening to wrench Aella from her mind, and finding absolutely nothing, Aislinn felt the panic set in. _No no no!_

_Embrace it, Callista. This is our destiny._

It was like trying to scale a glass walled well. Receding back into her mind, taking the spot her former life had so recently occupied, Aislinn could only watch in horror as Aella flexed her hands, and feel from afar as her lips curled up in victory.

“I am the one who breached the Fade itself! I have crossed the ages! Dumat, I beseech you!”

“Dumat is gone, Sethius,” Aella clucked. “There is no one awake to hear your begging now. Except me. Beg me for your life.” Raising one eyebrow as he spat at her feet, she tossed Aislinn’s dark, sooty braid over one shoulder, and shrugged. The anchor sparked to life, magic intertwining through her arm, and with one mighty burst of mana, she wrenched the orb from his grip, pausing for the briefest moment as she considered keeping it.

 _Don’t. It’s not worth it_ , Aislinn hissed,

 _Perhaps you are right this once. This is too tainted by the red. Very well._ With a flick of her wrists, she sent the orb flying off into the heavens, straight into the heart of the Breech itself. And instantly, a loud, resounding _crack_ echoed to every corner of Orlais and Ferelden as the swirling vortex imploded upon itself, and vanished into the clouds, just as she twisted the Fade above Corypheus’ prone figure, ripping another rift into the Void, smiling down at his defeat. “Goodbye, brother.” And with that, she tore the last member of her family apart until nothing was left but dust. “Brilliant.”

Aislinn couldn’t breathe. _It can’t be over. It can’t end like this, with me trapped in my own mind._

_I told you I would have my revenge, my dear. All this power. Can you feel it?_

She could. It was like standing at the precipice of a waterfall, held in the center of a hurricane, lightning streaking through her bones, the wind howling in her ear, the world at her fingertips- 

And yet she could not control even an iota of it.

“Can’t believe you actually did it,” Varric whistled, clambering up behind her, a weakened Morrigan in tow. The ground rumbled beneath their feet.

“Kaffas,” Dorian groaned. “Hold on. I believe we are descending back to the ground now.”

“Holy shite!” Grabbing the nearest outcropping of jagged stone, Sera wrapped her long limbs around the broken column. “We’re goin’ down!”

_Don’t let them fall. Please!_

Rolling her eyes, Aella acquiesced, and pinned down the others with the same force spell Aislinn had used on the way up, although hers had a bit more pressure than necessary, judging by Varric’s wheeze. “Shit, Storm,” he gasped when they finally hit the surface. “Little bit much there, don’t you think?”

“It’s not her right now,” Dorian muttered. “Look at her eyes. With all that casting, it will be some time before Aislinn regains control.”

_So they think._

_Aella! Give me back myself!_

_Is this how it was for you? An annoying little gnat, constantly buzzing in your ear?_

_Please_ , Aislinn sobbed. _I’ll give you whatever you want._

 _But I already have everything I want. For now._ “You there! Saddle my horse. I wish to return to Skyhold at once.”

As the soldier saluted and immediately scurried off, the others surrounded her, their relief at her survival palpable even deep within where Aislinn now lurked. “You live,” Cassandra gripped her arm tightly. “I am pleased.”

 _Oh, Marci_ … “As am I, my dear,” in what was probably her first and only genuine smile, her face almost tender, Aella resisted the urge to pull the other woman in for a kiss.

_Are you fucking serious? She’s my friend! She doesn’t even like women in this life!_

_That can be changed_. “Come. Let us return.”

“Solas is gone,” the Iron Bull noted once they were on the road. “Disappeared right after you sealed the Breach again.”

Shrugging, Aella replied, “It is of no matter to me where that elf ran off to.” Ignoring the whispers behind her, she pulled her horse up to the front of the line, determined to be the first back through the gates.

“The hell she think she is? Bring down one god, and all of sudden she's Miss High and Mi-”

“That’s Aella right now,” Dorian nudged Sera in her side. “Aislinn will return soon, hopefully. It happened in the desert.”

“And in the Wilds,” Blackwall added.

“I’m not so sure,” Bull muttered in a voice surprisingly quiet for such a large man. “Did you see her eyes? They’re completely silver now. It started out as flecks, but as Aella’s power grew, so did the silver in her eyes. And now they’ve completely turned.”

“You don’t think…?”

“That Aislinn is gone? And that is Aella? I do,” he nodded grimly.

“What can we do?” Cassandra stared up ahead, waiting for the gravity of the situation to sink in, her body rigid in her shock. “We can’t kill her. She’s a hero to the people, not to mention we still need her mark. There are dozens of rifts still left to close.”

“Don’t suppose tranquility is an option,” Blackwall suggested softly.

“No,” Dorian and Cassandra exclaimed simultaneously, both of them whirling on the man.

“I’ll talk to the other advisors when we get back,” the Seeker sighed. “Poor Cullen…”

The indistinct roar of the crowd reached them as they ascended from the road, the cheers from the thousands gathered in the valley and the keep deafening with their shouts of “Inquisitor!” and “Herald!” following her as the procession climbed higher through the thin layer of autumn snow. Smiling graciously as she waved, Aella kept her head held high as the proud mare trotted across the bridge and into the courtyard where all were already assembled. Waiting on her.

Their savior.

And soon, their god.

Aislinn screamed, raged, thrashed in her silent prison, but nothing swayed Aella from her course. _At least you picked a handsome one. Bedding him shall be no chore at all. But ugh, did you have to be pregnant? Such a chore. Although, I suppose it will be useful to have more than one heir._

 _No_ , Aislinn sobbed. _I can’t do this._

_Lucky for you then, you don’t have to do a thing anymore. Just watch._

Climbing the stairs to where the advisors waited, the wind whipped Aislinn’s cloak around her armored figured, her shoulders held straight, spine and head erect, smiling as each of them bowed in turn.

“You’re alive,” Cullen breathed as he raised himself back up. “Maker’s breath, I-” Rushing forward, he caught her up in a crushing embrace, his entire body shaking with the weight of his relief. “I was so worried.”

“I’m safe, my love,” Aella crooned in his ear, stroking his silky golden hair. “And I did it, Cullen. She’s gone. Resealed. It’s just me now.”

“You- you did?” Pulling back just enough to gape, Cullen whooped with joy, spinning her up into the air, laughing as he gripped her tighter. “I love you. It’s _over_. It’s finally over.”

Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her with all the pent up anxiety of the past two years, his mouth desperately devouring her, hot and warm and comforting.

_Oh, I shall definitely enjoy this._

_Cullen!_ Aislinn screamed. _She’s lying to you!_

 _Do you really think he can hear you, dear girl? Hmm? What’s this?_ Drawing back, the barest crease furrowed in his brow, his amber eyes searching hers. Recognition dawned. “Aella,” he rasped.

_Oh dear. He apparently figured it out. Such a pity. I would have enjoyed keeping him around longer._

_You can’t! You can’t mean to-_

_He is a threat to my rule. Do you really think I would suffer any who are not completely loyal to me in my court? No. He will have to be disposed of. Or perhaps I could break him? He did offer to be your blood sacrifice, didn’t he?_

_No!_

Patting his stubbled cheek, Aella merely winked at him, sweeping past the frozen Commanders and the others, still mercifully oblivious, to stand at the edge and gaze down at the crowd of Inquisition members gathered. Her Inquisition. Her armies. Under her name and banner, they would ravage the length and breadth of Thedas, and all would bow to her. First Ferelden, then Orlais and Nevarra. The rest would follow suit soon enough.

Raising her arms in victory, she felt the swell of their adoration crescendo through the night air. This was perfection. Glory, worship, respect, fear- she would have it all.

“Inquisitor! Inquisitor!”

“It’s a start,” Aella murmured to herself. “It’s a start.”

_I’m so sorry. Cullen, Lochlan… Please forgive me._

Beneath her, the crowd cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clicks upload*
> 
> *authors runs and hides*


	51. The Beginning

The scenes played out in the fraction of a heartbeat, leaving behind only the echo of his eyes. Horror and revulsion. Agony and regret. He would blame himself. How could she ever face him or her son again?

Gritting her teeth, Aislinn hissed, _I would die first than let you have me._

Without a second thought as to the consequences, she burned through the rest of the barrier that had held her and Aella apart all this time, a momentary flash of surprise flitting through her mind at the sheer depth of the other woman’s mana.

_What are you doing?! Stop that!_

Delving further than she had ever thought possible, Aislinn seized control of as much mana as she could grasp, and released it into her core. Nerves frayed, synapses strung taut and snapped, her vision faded into white hot light. Just enough to make Aella panic. To distract her.

Faster than a flash of lightning, Aislinn slipped back into her rightful place within her own mind, and reached- 

High, higher, directly into the Breach and the Fade itself, pulling more power than any one human could ever think to safely handle towards her. Someone in the distance screamed, and Aislinn wondered briefly if that could have been her.

_Stop! You would destroy us both, foolish girl! Not just kill- That much Fade energy could disrupt our soul cycle!_

_Good_ , Aislinn snarled. _This way, you’ll never be able to snake your way into the real world again._

The power was overwhelming, but the pain, oh the pain. It felt as if she was melting from the inside out, like lava was pouring through her bones. Unable to even breathe, she slammed the wall of magic into Aella’s consciousness, and _pushed._

Down, down. Back into the depths of her spirit.

Back where she belonged.

 _No!_ Aella shrieked. _I had you! You are not the stronger mage, I am!_

_I have more at risk than you. Didn’t you know to not fuck with a mother and her children?_

The other mage’s scream cut off mid-breath as Aislinn shaped the tidal wave of mana into a semblance of a barrier, every thought tinged with desperation and determination, and flooded her mind with everything she had.

Her love for her husband and her son.

Her hope for a future, together with her family and friends.

Her regret for the life she carried inside, ended far too soon.

Her relief that the world would never know Aella’s reign.

Every kiss, every laugh, every moment of joy and pain and life- she gave it all.

Until there was nothing left.

No one left in her mind. Except for her.

A blink of an eye.

That’s all the time it had taken to wipe Aella from her consciousness. Not just resealed, but banished beyond the Fade. For good. Leveling her glare on the magister, still damaged beyond repair, broken body draped over the rubble, Aislinn turned to face him completely.

_One last thing._

Recalling what she had seen in her vision- _premonition?_ \- Aislinn wrenched the orb from his lax grip, thrusting the tainted Elven creation straight into the mouth of the Breach. And just as she had hoped, the massive rift imploded with a booming crash, tendrils of the Fade snaking and fading across the midnight sky.

“You wanted into the Fade, Corypheus?” She gasped. “Here!” 

It would be her last act, to finally rid the world of his evil, to keep them all safe. Dredging up the last of her waning, empty mana pool, Aislinn leaned into the strength of the Anchor and tore open another rift. Right through his heart. Until nothing was left but ashes.

 _It’s done. It’s finally over. Everyone is safe_. Wobbling unsteadily on her feet, she heard the voices of her friends calling her name from somewhere behind her, felt the vibrations of their footsteps rushing to her, while the ground began to tremble beneath them all.

“Can’t believe you actually did it,” Varric whistled, clambering up behind her. 

“Kaffas,” Dorian groaned as the shaking intensified. “Hold on! I believe we are descending back to the ground now.”

“Holy shite!” Grabbing the nearest outcropping of jagged stone, Sera wrapped her long limbs around the broken column. “We’re goin’ down!”

 _Just… enough… for one… last…_ A blanket of gravity, so much weaker than the one that had kept them safe on the way up, pinned them all safely in place, while Dorian’s barrier enshrouded them all. _Remember the last time you exhausted your mana? It was to save Cullen. He was so mad. Do you think he’ll be mad again?_

And that was all she had left. As the remnants of the temple crashed into the ground, Aislinn finally gave in to the emptiness inside of her and collapsed, the darkness rising up to claim her.

_Forgive me, my love._

***

“...shall not fear the Legion, though they set themselves against me. In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know that Your light remains. I have...”

She wasn’t dead. She hurt too much to be dead. Even blinking was painful. Carefully wrenching open her eyelids, breaking through the crust that had sealed them shut, she cast her glance around a room that was all too familiar.

Her sheets were warm under her fingers, the fire in the hearth burning low this late at night, judging the time from the set of the moon in the sky just past her balcony doors. And to her left-

Cullen. The candlelight flickered over his sallow skin, or what little she could see of his face. His hands covered most of his eyes and cheeks, so that all that was left was a thick coating of stubble across his jaw, evidence that he had not shaved in several days, at least. Or probably eaten, judging by the tray of untouched food on her table. Or slept, knowing him.

“Please,” his voice broke, muffled in his palms. “I can’t- I can’t lose her. If you are there, if you ever were there, _save her_. Take me instead, I beg of you, I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” with a shattered cry, his shoulders trembled, heaving massive, wracking sobs as he pleaded with every deity he could think of.

 _Cullen_ , she tried to call, but to her dismay, her voice did not respond. Forcing all of her will into her hand, she manage just barely to twitch one finger.

“Linn?!” His head jerked up at the slight movement, haunted, sunken eyes fixating on hers, blessedly open and alive. “You’re- _Maker_.” Leaping from his chair, Cullen stumbled blindly through the dim light, falling to his knees at her side, reverently drawing one of her hands into his own as if she were made of glass. “I thought I lost you. I thought I-” Another sob shook his frame.

 _I love you_ , she mouthed, unable to properly respond. His eyes lit up, and instantly, the harsh lines of his face melted into the man she had left behind what seemed like hours ago. Or was it another lifetime?

“I love you, too.” Touching the bed next to her in a pathetic semblance of an invitation, Aislinn smiled as he gently scooted onto mattress, with the utmost caution so as not to disturb any of her injuries, and wrapped his arms around her. “You’ve been out for a week now. The healers told me the chances of you waking up were slim, but I had to believe. I had to believe you would come back to me,” he murmured into her hair. “Cassandra said that Solas healed you as best as he could after the battle before he disappeared. I can’t fathom how you managed to destroy Corypheus practically by yourself. My miracle. Both of you.” Laying one hand over her belly, Cullen affectionately rubbed the soft skin there, radiating contentment and peace and strength. “The baby is fine, by the way. Dorian says she’s as strong as ever.”

Her baby was alive. If she had been able to find the energy, she would have wept. _She?_ Aislinn mouthed quizzically.

“Yes,” he grinned rather unrepentantly. “I’ve decided that she’s a girl, you see. And that she’ll be just like her mother. Her beautiful, strong, amazing mother.” Sighing as his lips brushed against hers, Aislinn snuggled in as close as she was able, resting her head on his solid arms. “Rest some more, love. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

*** 

It would take another week before she had regained her voice, or was allowed to leave her room. And yet, being trapped in her chambers did not mean she was lonely. Her friends were constantly in and out, playing cards with her, bringing her tales of the goings on outside of Skyhold, and keeping her occupied. Cullen, of course, rarely left her side.

“Aella,” Aislinn had said, the first day she was finally able to speak more than a few rasping words at a time. “She’s gone, Cullen.”

Glancing up from the chess board, his eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hairline. “Gone? You mean, for good?” She nodded.

“It’s so quiet. Finally,” she had sighed. “No blood magic required.” The fact that she had been willing to give her life, and almost lost it notwithstanding, but he hadn’t needed to know that bit.

A massive grin had crept across his face after that, and did not leave for hours.

The day the healer declared Aislinn fit and ready to leave her bed, Dorian paid her visit, a mischievous smile twinkling in his eye. “Hello, my dear. Ready to blow this joint, as they say?”

“You look like the cat got the canary,” she frowned. “Out with it, Dor.”

Leaning on the column of her bed, he stroked his mustache. “There is a surprise for you, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. In other news, a little birdie found out that you and our dashing Commander eloped. Without telling anyone. I must admit, I’m grievously wounded that you didn’t tell me,” clasping one hand over his heart, the mage mock staggered to her side.

“Oh shit,” she breathed. “We were going to tell people the next day, but that night, the Breach…”

“Yes, yes, had to save the world and all,” he waved away her excuses. “Anyhow. Our dear ambassador was quite put out, and is planning a small fête to appease her shattered feelings.”

“To punish us,” Aislinn groaned.

“Precisely! The seamstress will be here later this afternoon to take your measurements. And the Commander’s, if she can find him. It will be a celebration to rival the Winter Ball!”

“Fuck me.”

“I rather think Cullen has that part covered already,” he pointedly stared at her belly, suddenly prominent in its curve. “Another thing you neglected to mention. To me, of all people!”

“I know.” Leaning on his arm for support, Aislinn made the slow, unsteady walk to her dresser, fumbling around for a clean tunic. “Everything was so unsure, you know? With the Wilds, and then Corypheus. I didn’t want people to know, and then…”

“I understand. I do have some good news, if you care to hear. Or, what I consider to be good news,” he said, pushing her door open. “You’ll be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” she snorted dryly.

“Cullen told me of your heritage? Daughter of Gavian Naevius, wasn’t it?” She nodded, curiosity blossoming in her chest at his triumphant smirk. “Silvanus Naevius. Your uncle, actually, father’s younger brother. Is married to my mother’s sister.”

“Wait. We’re cousins?”

“Indeed. Now. I’m not sure if that look means you’re happy or about to throw up.” Stepping off to the side of the stairwell, Dorian fluttered his arms at her, “If you feel the need to eject your breakfast, please aim elsewhere. I just had my boots polished yesterday.”

Aislinn gripped the banister tightly, staring with slackened jaw at her friend. “Dorian!” With a shrill squeal, she half threw herself, half fell onto the flustered mage, squeezing him tightly. “That’s the best news ever. There’s no one else I’d rather have for family.”

Patting her back, Dorian winced at the lack of airflow to his head. “There, there. I’m glad you’re happy. You are wrinkling my robes, Aislinn.” But the sight of his eyes, watery and full, belied the casual aloof tone of his voice. 

“Sorry,” she grinned. “Cousin.”

“I must admit, I’m rather pleased as well. It’s nice to have family who isn’t your typical, power hungry magister sort,” he replied dryly, pushing the door to the main hall open. “Ready for your surprise?”

“My-”

“Mama!”

Aislinn felt as if her heart would explode at the sight of her son, sprinting across the massive room. “Lochlan! Oh, baby,” grabbing him tightly to her chest, both mother and son collapsed onto the ground in a fit of giggles, their exuberance touching all who watched the reunion. “Look at you. You’ve grown at least another foot!”

“You should see the amount he eats,” Alistair drawled with a lazy smile. “His appetite rivals mine.”

“Look what I made, Mama!” Pulling a crudely carved figurine in the shape of a sitting mabari, Lochlan proudly handed it to Aislinn. “I made it all by myself! For my baby sister.”

“Sister?” She raised one eyebrow.

Lochlan shrugged. “That’s what Papa said she’d be in his last letter.”

“Did he now?” Turning to face her husband, Cullen nervously decided that was the perfect time to inspect the stained glass windows behind her throne, studiously avoiding her wry smirk. “It may still be a brother, Loch. Would that be okay?”

Cocking his head to one side, the boy heaved a long sigh, and jerked a slow nod. “I guess. But then I’d have to share my toys.”

Cullen laughed. “Even if it’s a girl, she still might prefer dragons and swords to dolls.”

“Lady Catalina,” Aislinn spied the petite Antivan woman behind Alistair. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“I’m glad to be here,” the noblewoman bobbed a small curtsy to Aislinn’s chagrin. “I’m so looking forward to the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” The Inquisitor frowned.

“Ah,” reaching up to rub his neck, Cullen scowled in the direction of the ambassador, who was happily flitting through the crowd, content to be in her element. “Someone found out we eloped, and is planning a ball.”

“Dorian mention that,” Aislinn sighed. “How many people is she inviting?”

“Everyone. Even _Orlesians_.”

“Our official invitation indicated it’s to celebrate your union, as well as your victory,” Alistair grinned at their discomfort. “So, yes, everyone.”

“Papa! I’ve been learning to fight with a shield, just like you! Can I show you now? Can I? Can I?” Leaning against the wall as Lochlan pulled his father in the direction of the courtyard, Aislinn rested a hand over her belly, bemoaning the loss of the view of her feet.

“Congrats, by the way,” Alistair nudged her shoulder. “Pregnancy suits you.”

“This one has been much easier than my first,” she shrugged. “Still, most days I can hardly believe it’s real.”

“A lot has happened these last two years,” he murmured, his eyes distant and unfocused.

“It all worked out in the end though, didn’t it?” Following her gaze to where it lingered on Catalina, who was now engrossed in conversation with Varric, laughing at something the Iron Bull was saying, he smiled.

“It did. And I wouldn’t trade a single moment of anything that has happened. Well, except those few days when I thought you were dead after the Conclave,” he grimaced, scrubbing his face to try and erase the memory of his panic and terror.

“I would trade those memories, too,” she snorted. “Way too many demons for my taste. Not to mention it was so fucking cold in Haven.”

“Thank you,” turning to her, he took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “For everything.”

“Like what, silly?”

“For letting Lochlan be a part of my life. For leading me to Cat. For being a friend. Just… everything.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*** 

The ceremony was surprisingly not as elaborate as the couple had been expecting. An old Ferelden tradition, Cullen had told her- a handfasting. Smoothing down the silk of her gown, Aislinn resisted the urge to run her fingers through her immaculately coiffed hair, lest she disrupt the golden thread and pearls and blooms of crystal grace that Josephine insisted she wear with her flowing ensemble. _For such a simple event, I sure look fancy_. Not that she really minded. Sometimes it was nice to dress up, to remind herself that she was still a woman underneath all the blood and death and war of the last few years.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Dorian offered her his arm as soon as she stepped into the empty main hall. “Ready?”

Aislinn took a deep breath. “I don’t even know why I’m nervous. We’re already married,” she muttered, plucking at the embroidery on her skirt.

Slapping her hand down, the altus clucked this tongue. “Because everyone is waiting on you and will be watching your every move this time?”

“Thanks, Dor.”

“What else is family for?”

Gripping his forearm just a bit tighter than necessary, Aislinn took a deep breath, and nodded at the attendant to open the door. The gardens were unbelievably lavish and verdant despite the season, the first bite of winter lingering in the late morning air. Garlands of flowers, lilies and embrium and roses were draped over the stone railings along with velvet ribbons, covering every gray surface in a riot of color.

But she barely even noticed. All she saw were the faces of her friends, her family, beaming back at her. Nudging her side, Dorian motioned to the front corner of the assembled, where a family of curly, golden haired women waited, along with a man that looked remarkably like his older brother, the Commander. _His family_ , she realized. _They made it._

And at the end of the petal strewn aisle, awaited the most perfect sight that she thought she would ever see. Cullen, standing proud and tall, resplendent in his crimson and gold and cobalt streaked full military regalia, with their son at his side, dressed as a miniature of his father. His topaz eyes, sparkling in the bright sun, gazed rapturously down at her, her belly swollen and full, her creamy skin glowing, her dark eyes like pools of liquid night.

“Hello,” he murmured as he took her hand.

“Hi,” she giggled.

“Ogle her later, Rutherford,” Alistair snorted before he cleared his throat and stepped forward, holding a plain, homespun linen cord in his hand. And then began to bind their hands together, as the rest of the crowd watched. “These are the hands of your best friend, young,” the king smirked and tried to cover up a cough as Cullen glowered at him, “and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow and forever. These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other. These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one. These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it. And lastly, these are the hands that, even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving the you same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.”

“Loch,” Aislinn murmured, jolting her son from his perch. With a fumbling step, the boy giggled and held out two golden bands, one slender and carved to reflect the light, one sturdy and wide and unembellished. Loosely tying off the ends, Alistair leaned down and plucked the rings, passing one to each of them.

“Maker in heaven, Andraste Your Bride, bless these rings and the couple who shall wear them. Keep them safe through adversity forever supported by your eternal blessing.”

Cullen could barely feel his fingers as he clumsily slipped the ring onto Aislinn’s finger. All he knew was the thundering of his heart, and the love he saw in her smile. After all this time, all these years- she was finally his, and he was hers. To hold, cherish, love, and never let go. Broken, and yet healed. Stronger now than they ever were before. This time, nothing would ever tear them apart.

“Ladies and gentlemen, madames and monsieurs, may I present the Commander Cullen Rutherford and his wife, Inquisitor Aislinn Rutherford?”

“I love you,” Cullen breathed into her ear, pulling in her in close.

“And I love you.”

“Are we done?” Lochlan piped up from somewhere behind them. “I want cake!”

Chuckling at his son, Cullen dipped his head down closer to Aislinn’s, brushing his lips against hers. 

“Oh, love. We’re just getting started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all really think I would leave it like that? For shame. <3
> 
> And that's a wrap! Still crazy to think that my planned, short drabble turned into this, but I'm so glad it did! And it wouldn't have been possible without everyone's continued support, in the form of comments, kudos, everything. I love you guys.
> 
> As for what's next, I started a new MGiT fic set after the Inquisition with a Commander still on lyrium called[Transit Umbra, Lux Permanet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14002176/chapters/32244273). And my other two WIPs will still be updating periodically, whenever my muse decides to come back.


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